


God Given Solace

by bluesuitharold



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Veela, Veela Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesuitharold/pseuds/bluesuitharold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco comes into his Veela heritage and must attempt to survive through all the trials that entails. Not a conventional Veela fic. Set during Deathly Hallows.  HGDM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Mortal Can Keep A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's birthday doesn't go according to plan.  
> I almost forgot…. DISCLAIMER—this is fan fiction and I am no one of importance… You can do the math.

**No Mortal Can Keep A Secret**

It is said that every family has skeletons lurking in their cupboards. Past shames are locked away in the hope that one day the bones of their fears will turn to dust. They long for the day their transgressions will no longer plague the family’s honor, reputation, and existence. Sometimes these secrets do dwindle down to nonexistence. However, until they do; they put enormous pressure on the family, threatening to tear it apart. In most cases, the aristocrats of the world often seem to think that the risk of corroding the core of the family is worth the luxury of silence. And although the wise will preach on the pitfalls of depending on assumptions, it is traditionally presumed that the more prominent the family is, the more lurid their secrets.

  
There were few families in Great Britain that could exceed the Malfoys in influence, wealth, or legacy. All the houses of Hogwarts would swear that one could fill the dungeons of their manor twice over with the quintessential familial skeletons and still need more space to hide the rest. Depending on the house these individuals might mean their words figuratively or literally. Of course, this is a gross exaggeration, but one the Malfoys don’t exactly try to discourage. It fueled people’s fear and pre-emptively ended any desire they might have to cross a Malfoy. However, in truth there were actually very few incidents that the Malfoys would rather people be oblivious to. They were a proud family and felt no shame in honoring their glorious history.

  
Nonetheless, there was one secret to top them all—one the Malfoys would die before exposing. It was an ancient secret so old that it seemed even to them more like lore than an actual event. It was heavily guarded by faint disbelief and family tradition; father passed down tale of it to son, and it was thereafter never to be mentioned again. It was a private myth too costly for anyone to know, so no other path for protection was available, or so the Malfoys of each generation told themselves.

  
Sometimes families must face their dark secrets head on regardless of great the desire to discount them. The Malfoys were fully aware of that fact. But never did the Malfoys believe that they would see the day where this particular legend would become their stark reality.  
*****  
It was an unusually hot, muggy June night in the country side of Wiltshire. The air felt so thick that it could have hidden the elegantly foreboding fortress from the world like a velour curtain without the use of any wards or spells. It was a night so hot, that even the thought of moving was too stifling to bear. The only avenue of escape was to lie dormant and pant, like an undignified krupp.

  
It was a small consolation to the inhabitants of that place that the heat was to be the only kind of danger the manor would have cause to face that night. As it should have been, for the family had taken great care to protect it. Only those magically inclined and in good favor with residents of the magnificent manor could locate it. It had been that way since before all who lived there could even fathom, but recently security had been tighter still. There was no denying that these days had been dark ones in the wizarding world—even darker times for the family who called this manor home.

  
In a dim, luxurious chamber in the west wing of this dismally humid scene laid a restless young man. The room screamed privilege. The grand furniture was of the richest mahogany, carved in a timelessly streamline fashion. Every curtain and pillow had been crafted with the most lavish of black fabrics. The stone floor had an eerie glow in the moonlight, which flowed across its ancient surface and caught beautifully on each tiny ridge and ripple. This was a decidedly masculine room, resonating with power, influence, and control. Ironic really; control was the one thing that teen wished he had.

  
Everyone thought they had him pegged. They would swear they had the great Draco Lucius Malfoy all figured out. It was downright frustrating to him; he didn’t even know who he was anymore. Could he be anything other than what others expected him to be? He wanted to take command of his own life and prove them all wrong, but he didn’t think he had that choice any longer. Every aspect of his life was currently under the command of The Dark Lord, and anyone with half of a functioning brain could see that man’s complete madness. Good old Voldemort was hell bent to destroy the world—why would he care if his plans completely destroyed the life of Draco and his family. To Draco Voldemort’s scheme to purify the world was bonkers. The math did not add up to Draco. If purebloods were better than all others then why would they risk death in a petty attempt to harass muggles and mudbloods? He probably would never be able to stomach muggles, but in his mind if they left him alone he would be more than happy to simply continue to ignore them.

  
For his part, Draco just wanted to silence his thoughts and get some rest. He’d been groggy all day, but right now he felt as if he had been trampled by a heard of Centaurs only to be thrown beneath the Hogwarts Express. His entire body ached as if he’d just been through a grueling session of “family time” with his darling Aunt. She usually elected to use him as target practice. He found it all perverse. It was, as she often reminded him, only what the Coward deserved for failing such a simple task. Who would send a sixteen year old student to kill their Headmaster, really? Aunt Bellatrix craved a sadistic thrill to be able to sleep at night. He wasn’t sure but he would be willing to bet that Rodolphus couldn’t satisfy his wife. There had to be a reason why Bellatrix was permanently in a foul mood and panted after the Dark Lord brazenly in her husband’s presence.

  
The night dragged unbearably on with his mind racing and his body aching all throughout. It seemed like it would never end. Tomorrow was his to be his birthday, but he had a premonition that he would probably stay locked in his room all day in acute misery. Briefly, he wondered if suffocating himself with his own pillow was a legitimate means of falling asleep. It was not his most sensible idea ever. It was tad more permanent of a solution that he wasn’t really interested in fulfilling, but it was the best he could conjure up at the moment. His head pounded. Every sound seemed magnified and warped. Even the constant ticking of the clock, time moving slowly and endlessly on, hammered in his skull and ceaselessly taunted him. The cooling charms in the room were helpless against the overwhelming heat. He had begun to consider the heinous idea that he might have a fever.  
Huffing and impatient, he turned to look at the damn clock but was too caught in his own bedding to move. Draco’s sheet was unyielding like it had cemented itself to his skin He fought with it what seemed like eons but might have been only seconds, only succeeding in twisting the cursed fabric even tighter around his long limbs. There was nothing comfortable about tonight’s attempt of finding sweet slumber. He refused to let a blasted piece of woven fabric imprison him. Finally, he broke free with an undignified croak of triumph. He managed to glimpse his clock just as it struck midnight.

  
The first chime came, tearing through the silence of the night. Draco sighed with the sound of it—the first moment of his next year of life. He resigned himself to another year of complete drudgery. Draco was a proud man; however, he was not above allowing himself to start yet another round of self-piteous wallowing. Before another thought could enter his head he promptly froze. His world was suddenly inundated with excruciating pain—vibrating through his very skeleton and making the room around him warp and sway in the most accursed of ways. He had just enough mental faculty left to look down at his own body, horrified to watch every bone in his body break one by one.

  
Draco had been told since before he could remember that Malfoys were supposed to be in control of themselves at all times. Emotion was allowed only for the purposes of manipulation. And they certainly never lowered themselves to something so mundane as screaming. But the sound that ripped itself from his chest at that moment was the most gruesome ever to be heard in Malfoy Manor. He screamed and was only vaguely aware of it, using his voice as a way to release even a portion of the madness that gripped him until his vocal chords were too strained to utter any audible noise. All pride and sense of self had left him in the face of this agony.

  
He didn’t know how long he was trapped in that nightmare, but it could have been years. Some part of him knew that in the world around him, time was ticking forward, and when his awareness flickered briefly back he thought he could feel something blessedly cool against his skin. Draco struggled to stay in that place, but he could not. He was fighting just to keep his sense of self. His consciousness cycled between nothingness and chaos.

  
Draco was nowhere near cognizant enough to recognize his parents’ and his Healer’s attempt to bring down the radiating fever, but he realized later what must have happened. All he knew was the unrelenting pain until, just as quickly as this attack had sprung, it retreated. His whole essence cried in relief to be absent from the torture. All his nerves still throbbed with the memory of the extreme ordeal, but in the face of what he’d just gone through this gentle ache seemed divine. Unable to take any more, he descended into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

_Awaken_

Draco was unsure from whence the forceful command to stir from his slumber originated—his stomach, his conscience, or some higher power. Then his sarcasm kicked in. Who was he kidding; any higher power had forsaken him long ago. This… whatever it was, was simply the latest development in the long litany of things that plagued him. It was either hunger or his own madness waking him now, and that was the end of it. However, regardless of who’d made them, he had no choice but to oblige the order to wake. His mind was fully alert now, and he would never have gotten back to sleep anyway even though it was a laborious task to rouse his exhausted body.

  
His eyes fluttered open. What he expected to meet was the usual, heat hazy world he had left the night before. What he found instead was a strange mirage. Everything was shockingly vibrant and clear; the colors seemed brighter, outlines starker. Draco gazed around in wonder, drinking in his surrounds as if for the first time. Was there a pattern engraved on the ceiling? Draco blinked, shook his head and looked again. The tiny, intricate detailing of his high ceiling looked back. Draco took a few seconds to panic before the traditional Malfoy-composure reared its head. Surely this was an illusion. He had most likely slept for a long time, which had messed with his vision before. Besides, everyone knew that fevers did strange things to the mind. This was just a figment of his unruly imagination.

  
Draco’s will eventually overpowered his body’s protests and he set himself to moving. He felt as if any more time in that prison of silk would make his muscles atrophy. Morbidly, he wondered if this was how rigor mortis felt to the dead; assuming they could feel, of course. Every muscle in his body was stiff and taut, as if he had been tested beyond any mortal limit. It was horridly taxing just to get up, but the idea of remaining stationary any longer was simply too pathetic to consider.

His usual lithe movements were currently inoperative, so he wound up hobbling along and cursing at himself to start functioning again. In his mind, it had become a necessity to go about his routine despite his recent illness. It was an allowable self-comfort—a way to keep himself from thinking too much about the horrible visions of last night. Draco shuddered at the memory of those preposterous fever dreams. He reasoned that his temperature must have gotten unbelievably high for a logical person like himself to have such a vivid, heat-induced nightmare. Really his bones breaking beneath his very gaze with no visible cause? It had to be the fever. Any other explanation was too absurd even for a man who been surrounded by magic his entire life.

  
Judging by the overly bright light streaming into the room from behind his dark curtains, he must already have wasted more than half the day away. It was a fact that only goaded him further to prove that he was not some pitiful invalid. He selected one of his many immaculate, light-weight dress shirts and some comfortable slacks, then directed himself towards his private bathroom. A shower to wash the residue of sickly sweat off of his body would do him some good. He had been taught from a very young age to dispose of any traces of weakness in the most timely of manners, and feeling grimy all over like this only reminded him of last night’s terror. He was too disgusted by his appearance and the memory of his pathetic display last night to even look in the mirror, despite his reputation as the epitome of vanity in a man.

  
The hot water and soothing bath soaps swept over his weary form, and eased much of his tension away. He lingered there just long enough to feel human again and then resigned himself to facing the remains of today—just another wretched day spent waiting and wondering if Voldemort would request his followers’ immediate attention. That was the plan, anyway. Unfortunately, life did not want to make itself simple for Draco. The second he sought to get dressed it became apparent to him that someone had shrunken his blasted shirt. It was a fact most perplexing; never before had any of the house-elves made such a gross mistake. But his tailored shirt would not go over his shoulders, reach his wrists, or even come anywhere close to hitting below his waist. An internal battle raged within Draco; whether it was best to enlarge the garment and run the possibility of ruining its tailoring charms, or to forgo his dignity and go downstairs in his bathrobe.Well the clothes he had selected were already ruined anyway, he reasoned to himself. He would just have to enlarge them and risk looking, Merlin forbid it, slightly frumpy. Draco scoffed. What a glorious day this was turning out to be.

  
He sauntered out of his wing of the manor on a mission of the most basic nature: food. However, as he marched on his way to find it he began to feel most peculiar. It came suddenly—that annoyingly persistent queasiness one suffered when one started to realize something was off. The manor was never truly loud, but the portraits did have a way of creating a little noise here and there. Draco was not usually one to pay much mind to his dead ancestor’s portraits. They really didn’t have anything that fascinating to say. There are only so many times a person could glorify the linage of the Malfoy and insult everyone else before it got a little humdrum. However, at that moment the portraits were more silent and still than a moon-lit graveyard. They had all frozen within their frames, as if they had all simultaneously experienced some sort of portrait-hysteria. Draco looked from one pale, painted fact to another in askance, but none of them were willing to look him in the eyes. Some had an expression acutely similar to shame written clearly across their delicate visages. Draco scowled, and raised one eyebrow, mentally commanding them to return to their normal behavior, but none of them did. Draco had witnessed every person in his life fall victim to the virus that was Voldemort. Draco guessed this only justified his theory that insanity was contagious; even animated paintings could become unhinged like everyone else.

  
“Lucius, you cannot be serious.” Draco paused in his step, surprised to hear Snape’s oily drawl emanate from his father’s formal study. It wasn’t every often that family friends visited anymore. Well… perhaps that was a lie. Some days there were plenty of “friends” visiting, but never during the middle of the day. They preferred the dark of night to cloak their intentions these days, not that it wasn’t simple to figure that crowd out anyway.

  
“Severus, what else can I do? I am doing my best to try to protect my son. You know what this could mean.” Lucius’ usually refined tone was replaced with a desperate urgency that made this situation even more confusing.

  
He could hear his father’s footsteps as he paced. He had never known his father to be so loudly agitated. From his safe, eavesdropping post, Draco sneered at the bold proclamation. Where the hell had that protection been last year? Lucius hadn’t voiced any qualms about Voldemort sending him on a mission to murder the Headmaster. What could his father possibly care enough about to protect him from now. Could it be an unfortunate marriage to a mountain troll? He had a brief musing over what it would be like to attempt to procreate with Millicent Bulstrode, which made his stomach attempt to rid itself of all remaining contents. Draco felt undignified at the very idea of it. He swore he would never think such a horrible thought again.

  
Snape’s scoff must have been heard throughout the house it was so overdramatic. Draco swore he could almost hear Snape’s cloak dramatically follow Snape around the room.

  
“You think he won’t find out?” Draco wondered if Professor Snape had just slam his fist onto a desk for emphasis. “Draco needs to know what is happening to him; so, he can protect himself. His life depends on him accepting this. Denial will help no one.” Snape challenged back.

  
“What if someone else is to discover this? Our family can trust you, but I cannot doom my so—”

  
“You are damning him to death, Lucius, if you do not tell him the truth. If I understand the research at our disposal; he has one year from the start of his transformation. He already lost days from exhaustion of receiving his inheritance and you want him to ignore it.” It was a rare to listen to the monotonic Potion Master get so vehemently upset.

  
Draco refused to be idle any longer. His blood boiled. He would demand to know what his family was hiding now. If his life was on the line, yet again, he would rather be given the courtesy to know the truth. As he grew angrier his temperature seemed to spike, weakening the last bit of resolve to remain couth. The locked doors of the grand study flew open, in Draco’s fury he was unaware of his wandless magic. Snape and Lucius turned to the door, ready to attack whoever had just blasted in and ruined what needed to remain a very private conversation. Relief flooded both Lucius and Severus’ faces when they saw it was only Draco at the door. Lucius grabbed the back of his chair for support as the little color in his face drained away from his ghastly pale form. Of course, Draco could see Snape was far more pleased than his father that he had barged so rudely into the office. It would appear Lucius would concede this round to Draco. However, it sounded like it would be unavoidable to keep this secret from him anyway.

  
“Father, tell me now.” Draco voice was low and threatening. It reverberated with power; this command needed to be followed.

  
Lucius began to collapse into his chair in utter defeat his usually kept hair veiling his face away from his son’s wrath. “I have to apologize—”

  
“Now!” Draco was done with pleasantries his father could lecture him all he wanted on his behavior another day.  
“You are a Veela, my son”

* * *

  
**He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.~ Sigmund Freud**


	2. Real Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of finding out the family secret.

**Real Tragedy**

Of all the things Draco expected his father to say, that particular phrase was fairly low on the registry. In his mind, it ranked probably somewhere between being informed that he was Harry Potter’s twin brother, and learning he’s been betrothed to a unicorn. What Lucius said should have been preposterous. The scholarly world had never believed that a male Veela could exist. There was a commonly accepted truth that Veela blood in a witch was an extreme rarity, but that due to chance or fate or magical tragedy, there had never been any proof of any male Veela in existence. He should have been able to predict it; of course Draco’s life would defy the natural laws of the world. Then again what was ever normal about any occurrence in the wizarding world?

  
The bloodlines of the Veela were so dilute. The historians were very flippant about the eventual tragic demise of the race. According to every textbook Draco had at his disposal, they were a magical species barreling headlong down the road to becoming extinct due to their inability to produce male offspring. Of course the fact that there had been a few centuries of persecution did not help population growth either. However, no one wants to ever embrace the blame for questionably inhuman laws. There was even some speculation that Veelas were actually the mythical sirens of old. Therefore, of course Veelas could only be females since mythology only referenced deadly temptresses. Draco liked to believe this assumption epitomized the stupidity of bookworms and their inability to think of anything not found in a reference book. It seemed perfectly obvious to Draco it was possible for male Veelas to live. He knew he was a man. He did not need to double check this fact.

  
Draco had been cloistered up in his room under the pretenses of the most ingenious lie his parents could concoct. He’d contracted Vanishing Sickness and had ghastly allergic reaction to the potion a healer administrated to him. It was a near death experience for him that demanded he rest for weeks, or so the story went. In a way, Draco felt that he really had died that night. He could no longer be called a pureblood. His blood-work revealed he had the strongest amount of Veela blood ever to be documented in any one. When the family Healer tested Draco for Veela heritage all were flabbergasted to find that Draco, without a doubt, was a full Veela. Draco was sure the Healer cursed himself for taking an Unbreakable Vow to keep Draco’s condition a secret. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind the Healer probably considered breaking it just to receive the eternal glory of discovering and treating the first male Veela in recorded history. However, there is no satisfaction if one couldn’t wallow in personal glory. Plus, the Healer probably thought not even death could save him from the retribution the Malfoy clan would deliver for the betrayal.

  
For clear reasons, he desperately needed a cover, and Vanishing Sickness was a good ruse. It kept Voldemort and his brute squad out of the manor, for fear of contracting the disease themselves if nothing else. The Malfoys preferred the bubble of solitude that blanked the Manor for the coming weeks. The lie did almost a better job keeping Draco hidden from anyone who might take interest in Draco than the wrought iron, stone and complex wards probably ever had. However, the excuse had reached its expiration date all too quickly. To celebrate Draco’s return to glorious health, the Dark Lord saw it fitting to have the meeting take place at Malfoy Manor. It felt like it was more like another reminder that there was no escape from the nightmare that was his fate: swearing eternal allegiance to the psychotic killer.

  
Draco shook his head violently, trying to physically banish his thoughts from his skull. He glared at pristine room where the newest addition to his life taunted him. The bright turquoise bottle on his desk seemed to jeer back, fully accepting the challenge thrown down from Draco. He had no choice but to follow orders, the potion won by default tonight. It would be consumed.

  
Those who had more time then sense apparently preferred to research the absolutely pointless. One such research study focused on the effects that the Draught of Peace had on patients adjusting to Veela changes. It appeared to Draco certain Healers share the same complex. They all just had to focus on the impossible, like diminishing the difficult reactions of failed Veela courtships, instead of actually trying to save lives on a normal basis. The research illustrated that a careful requiem of the brew could keep the Veela nature dormant. When Lucius heard of a few patients having extended period of time to woe their mate, he had secure a steady supply of the draught and the pricey ingredients. Snape cautioned Draco’s family to try let Draco accept his nature before starting the requiem, however those warnings fell on deaf ears. Draco had been cautioned against abusing the potion; he hoped that there were not any long term effects from so heavily relying on the Draught of Peace. As long as he didn’t start drooling in the middle of the meeting like some beast, he would be satisfied. He could not hide the physical changes that he went through, but other explanations would also justify the transformations. Seventeen year olds did tend to have rather large growth spurts. It wouldn’t be completely out of the question that Draco just happened to grow several centimeters in a summer.

  
The excuses coupled with the potion should have allowed him to keep his true nature hidden from people who would seek to destroy Draco, (the Order of the flaming fools) or aspire to exploit his new powers, (he who must not have a brain). Draco was lucid enough to realize that it might be the other way around. Team Harry with their soft hearts beating with all things noble might seek to recruit him if they heard his pathetic situation and Team Voldie might see him as more of a threat than a weapon and try to eliminate any possible threat to the status quo. Either way, it didn’t change Draco’s lot in life. Regardless of the actions his foes might actually take, he could not afford for the truth to come out at one of these Voldemort angst sessions.

  
The way Draco perceived the situation; he was already in a countdown to his eventual death no matter what happened. If Voldemort found out the truth he was dead. If the Order learned about it he would have a larger target on his back. If he couldn’t find his mate he’d surely waste away. If the mate refused his love he’d suffer a pitiful demise. If she died in this war he would instantaneously expire. With all those things in consideration, his odds for surviving this war were merger at best; less than a fourth year (other than Potter) surviving and winning the Triwizard Tournament. He would try to hold out as long as possible—because he still retained some semblance of pride, not because he believed in lovey dovey immature faery tales to explain sex under the allusion of romance. Well, for now he had to only endure through the meeting. He could dwell on his depressing survival prospects later.  
Draco uncorked the vial and looked down at the shimmering turquois liquid. He knew the time for dawdling had pass. So with complete apathy he tossed it back in one gulp. The Draught of Peace left a sickly sweet after taste that burned his heightened palate. Ordinarily, Draco would have had some witty but sarcastic remark on peace floating caustically about his head, but he was overwhelmed with the initial rush of tranquility. He longed to do nothing more than to stay here quiet and complacent in his room. However, he still maintained enough sense to know he could not do such a thing. It was time for him to descend to the hellish assembly of Death Eaters.

* * *

  
Drag—a verb which means to draw hence with force, violence, or roughness; to draw slowly with difficulty.

  
This meeting was the very definition of dragging. The force of course originated from the ever lovely Dark Lord of everlasting stupidity. The difficulty rested on Draco’s ability to bear the evening as stoically as possible. However, even with the Draught of Peace in his blood system his nervousness and the nausea left him feeling like he was on trial yet again. Voldemort was droning on about world domination and the eventual execution of Mister-Boy-Hero himself. There was some death to be had, but mostly the topic du jure was mayhem. And one couldn’t forget the humiliation that was on the itinerary for Voldemort’s macabre pleasure. He’d robbed his father of his wand, which was the most emasculating thing one wizard could inflict on another. The family had already lost their honor with the high quality time in prison Lucius had already endured. So, why not add insult to injury? They had to just grin and bear it. It is too dangerous to acknowledge the shame.

  
The meeting seemed to go on and on until, like shadows passing in the night, the Lord of idiocy and his band of masked monkeys left the Manor. On the bright-side, Draco had been given the pristine honor to be chosen to be lead minion for the junior ranked brute squad. Previously, Draco would have been overjoyed to hold the position. Now, he was wiser; this was just yet another way he and his family could be continuously watched. This was not a reward but test for Draco. Voldemort wanted Draco to prove his worth and get his hands dirty.

  
Last year was stressful enough and that was when he thought he was perfectly 100% human, Ha! Instead he was living the dream of the average 10 year old girl; he was a rare mythological creature destined for a soul mate. Well, if the average brat with pigtails really wanted this botched reality, they could bloody well have it. He would rather go back to his days of having a slew of beautiful witches at his disposal. That had been entertaining. Plus, he had been very proficient with dealing with their wants and needs. He had often been informed how greatly he performed. Yes, he knew eventually he would settle down, marry, and produce a Malfoy heir himself, but he had several good years he had planned on wasting with a large quantity of beautiful broads. Now, his choices were “bond”—he refused to say mate, he didn’t like the connation of being like an animal—or death. It would appear that Draco was in need of a quality relationship much sooner than he ever thought in his hellish nightmares. His future spouse better not be a hag because the last thing he wanted was to wish for death after the fact. According to the minimal research he had been able to stomach reading about the mating section of his condition, a Veela’s mate was the very epitome of perfection. Draco personally was tired of the obsession with the quest of perfection. It was impossible to ever achieve perfection. His entire life had been a quest to be perfect. Now, he was stuck in a world dying to find his perfect match.

 

* * *

  
For days Draco would do everything in his power to lose himself in the confines of the Malfoy extensive library. However, even with the mountain of materials available to distract him, Draco felt uneasy. He had entered the market of trying to buy any and all books about Veelas, he could not shake the overwhelming feeling that he was missing something important. Oh, not in the sappy way—he wasn’t desperately pleading for his mate. He luckily hadn’t matured enough to be able to long for his mate yet. No it is that annoying sense one gets when they know information is being withheld. Draco was an intrepid advocate for full disclosure. He’d never been a fan of surprises, or being left purposely ignorant. It made a man look daft when he was the only one lacking the truth, and Draco had never reveled in the joys of playing the fool. He did his best with what he could to educate himself on his condition, but he only had the supplies housed in the growing Malfoy library. It was filled with the rarest and sought after books, but not every answer in life can be found within ink remnants of previous generations. Especially when it came to a creature as increasingly rare and private as a Veela.

  
Draco self-imposed solitude was interrupted abruptly by his godfather’s appearance. Severus certainly had a flare for the dramatics. He appeared at just the right moment, when Draco was fully emerged in his research. He had learned from an early age his mentor’s ability to silently appear in the most annoying moments. Most students would quake with fear at the grave grace Snape exuded, but then, most of his peers were still bumbling along trying to master their own two feet without becoming a clumsy sideshow. No, Draco had honed the art of being a true Slytherin long ago. So when Snape appeared seemingly out of thin air at his side and lingered in the empty chair, Draco was not at all flustered. However, this did not mean Draco was in the mood to have a discussion with the older man.

  
“May I help you?” Draco assumed that the rest of his evening would be another wonderful lecture on his responsibilities.

  
It was simple to conclude that Draco wasn’t looking forward to it. So why not at least goad his opponent? The thrill of wit and banter was his eternal pastime. Severus’s face clearly expressed his annoyance at the sass in Draco’s delivery.

  
“This is not the time for portraying the attitude of a petulant teenage girl.” It was apparent that both men were prepared for such sparring match. There was a flicker of amusement in Snape’s eyes as he spoke. Draco only sneered back in response. He rather did not enjoy being compared to the likes of Brown. The annoyed teen elected not to dignify that slanderous statement with a response. Instead, he headed over to decanter by the fireplace. He poured himself a little Blishen and offered Snape his own glass. He had a feeling this conversation would need a glass or two to survive through.

  
“Draco, there is no simple way to have this conversation.” Snape began anew as he as he took the offered firewhiskey. Draco was content to stare into the glass as he swirled the potent beverage to watch the way it reflected the light and danced within its glass prison, waiting for his godfather to continue. “Draco, it is undeniable that you have been asked to do many egregious things at far too young of age. You have witnessed many terrible things.”

  
“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Draco drawled, trying to resist the urge to fidget. It was an unbecoming habit he’d taken pains to remove from himself at a younger age. Since the transformation he felt he had regressed waiting for Snape to get to the heart of his lecture only seemed to heighten Draco’s agitation.

  
“Perceptive as ever,” Snape allowed. “I know you think you have had all your choices stripped from you, but you do still have choices.” Snape’s supposedly enlightening comment sparked a scoff to ripple out from its recipient. Draco had already studied his wonderful choices and he saw no hope at all for his situation.

 

“Death or more death. How very pleasant, I think I will pick—”Draco sarcastically intoned.

  
“Do not be flippant with me; we are in a war.” Severus was deadly calm, signaling to Draco should cease with the immaturity.

  
“I didn’t ask to be a Veela. I didn’t ask for any of this.” Even Draco couldn’t deny that his own voice sounded too much like a dejected whine.

  
“Wake up, Draco. None of us ask for this. No one asks for their personal challenges. No one asks for the hardships of war to come crashing down on them. Unfortunately, our lives will only get more difficult and challenging once we return to Hogwarts. I believe you have the fortitude to do what you must for yourself or you wouldn’t have earned the honor of being Head Boy. You are far too clever to let anyone take what you want out from under you.” Severus put the green badge on the side table.

  
Draco didn’t want to think about the truth of those words. Draco had always wanted to be Head Boy. Even though he had always bested Potter academically, Draco had resigned himself to accept that the Gryffindor would swoop in a claim the honor. He had become very acquainted with Potter’s modus operandi during his time at Hogwarts. By the time Draco had overcome his conflicting emotions he realized that Snape had already disappeared into the night. The conversation was over, without a doubt. However, the words that been said were still reverberating within his mind.

  
“But I am afraid I don’t know what I want.” Draco whispered to an empty room.

* * *

  
**We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light~Plato**


	3. Forge the Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns to Hogwarts.

_There was a magical glow encompassing everything before him. He forcibly blinked to try to focus his vision but it was moot. It was like his eyes were failing him. Everything had this distorted blurred quality to it, as if someone had shined too much bright light in already sensitive eyes. It was giving him a headache. Draco was lost in the moment, fighting to regain and utilize all his senses. He had been robbed of all tactical and auditory abilities, and left disconcerted in the wake. He swept the room to cast out for some kind of bearing on his situation. Candle light warmed the hard stone surrounding him. The candles, flowers, and greenery encircled the area giving it a sense of romance. His initial confusion gradually waning, he noticed a large group of cloaked and caped people staring towards the front of the hall. They were a stone-still mass of bodies. The lack of sound made it all very difficult to understand. What was everyone waiting for? And more importantly, why was he here?_

_Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the approach of a late arrival. The newcomer looked like he’d been plucked from the medieval era, he sported such ostentatious garb. But despite all the embroidery, lace and different fabrics he still retained a definitely masculine presence. He appeared to be in an incredibly pleasant mood, beaming as he was from front of the isle. A fact Draco was thankful for, given the huge broad sword hanging by his side, and Draco’s rather salient realization that he had no real reason to be at this important and obviously formal event. The metal of the blade gleaming in the candle light was positively foreboding and as an uninvited guest, Draco felt he made a tempting target. He started to surreptitiously reach for his wand, just in case the man with the sword took offense to his intrusion. He quickly found himself defenseless. His trusty wand was missing. Draco was attempting to back away and look for an exit when everyone’s eyes turned directly and simultaneously toward him. He muttered a prayer to whoever would listen, hoping to talk his way out of this situation with all limbs unscathed. He had always been gifted with a talented tongue. He hadn’t been dubbed a Slytherin Prince for nothing. Draco was readying himself to deliverer his life into good graces of the lunatics with swords and lace when the most perplexing thing occurred._

_He had been told he walked all over women by many a disapproving voice, but that had only been figuratively. At least he’d never been accused of walking through someone, which was what happened to him in that second. A woman literally walked straight through him, as if he were less noticeable than the morning mist._

_She was a beautiful woman; there was no doubt about that. However, she did nothing for him personally. Her coloring was too similar to his and he had already reached the quota for narcissism in his lifetime. Flowers were twined into her long platinum hair, which flowed freely down her back. Draco had to wonder when this woman had last gotten a haircut, for her hair reached such unfathomable lengths. She wore a pristine white and gold garment that had to be costly. He watched this new beauty and the lacy-swordsman from earlier trade overwhelmingly sappy looks of absolute adoration. The misplaced Slytherin realized somewhat sluggishly that he had somehow intruded on a wedding._

_He watched the couple as their hands were bound in a ceremonial cloth and the priest gave his blessing. He tried to pay attention to service but he must have failed, for the whole thing seemed to be over before it even started. The pair walked back up the isle and the bride kissed the ring on her groom’s hand. But as her lips left the metal, he saw something which peaked his curiosity. The Malfoy crest rested quite clearly on that man’s hand. He turned to follow them and found the same crest hanging in the breeze, illuminated by the moonlight’s rays._

_He blinked at it for only a moment and moved, trying to find where this Malfoy bride and groom had ran off to. It was when he took the steps to follow them that he finally felt something—the first tactile sensation since he’d found himself in this place—the feeling of falling…_

* * *

 

 

**Forge the Chains**

The birds were chirping as they frolicked across the sky. They danced from tree to tree in the maze of the Malfoy’s gardens. It was a boring pattern which had no true rhythm or reason. Morning had come ungodly too early for Draco. It was a challenge to be delighted with the day when his sleep had been plagued by dreams. Even though he hated to admit it, the sky was simply picturesque with the clouds floating along with the gentle cool breeze. It had the warning of autumn’s eventual return. However, that was not a concern yet. The gardens were charmed to extend each flower’s beauty for as long as possible. The scents of all the various blooms wafted around the elegant table and chairs setup for casual retreats for the family to use. His mother would say there was an intoxicating aroma of loveliness in the air. Most guests were unaware of the splendor of the extensive gardens surrounding the Manor. It was a shame. Everybody came for the dreary dungeons and missed this.

Breakfast out in labyrinth was becoming a more frequent occurrence. The more treacherous the war became the more Draco’s mother desired to have peace with her flowers. It was the perfect escape from the cold stone that constantly bounded the members of high society. Narcissa used it as her private haven for many years. Draco was sure getting lost amidst the blooms was the way his mother dealt with the overwhelming threats of war breathing hotly down on each of them. The poor woman dealt with being the wife of a defamed man and recently inherited a creature for a son. She deserved at least this much. A little tranquility was needed in her life.

She never showed any hints of how it affected her. Some might think she was callous or maybe too docile for her own good but Draco knew better. She was reserved. Like many other pureblood daughters, she had been taught from a very young age the importance of being a Lady of a House with all that entitled. She loved her family. The modern world might not understand that pureblood came from a world where demands were commonplace. One must remain stoic at all times. To these families, this belief was as real and justified as the principle of gravity. It was pointless to ignore therefore each Malfoy had been hardened and tested. This tradition had made Draco a man. Of course, as an intelligent man when his mother had asked him to join her for tea before he departed for Hogwarts, he did not disappoint her.

This meant he woke up bright and early and found himself spending the morning in the garden. Unfortunately, his father did not join them for breakfast yet again. Draco had assumed his father did not have the stomach to face his sole heir any longer. Lucius avoided all possible incidents where they would interact with one another. In fact Draco hardly saw Lucius anymore other than for a few meetings here and there when Voldemort beckon the Deatheaters to his gruesome side. His father was a shadow of the man Draco had spent his entire prepubescent years attempt to emulate. Lucius’ pride had already been destroyed but it wasn’t enough for Voldemort. It had been a tough couple of meeting when Lucius’s wand failed to perform the way the Dark Lord wanted against Potter. Usually wizards realized how important it was to use a receptive wand, which means use your own blooming wand. Anyway, there wasn’t much mercy or affection being doled out from the power hungry zealot these days. It was hard to live in a world dominated by vice. When Draco was able to glance at his father, he saw the toll written clearly on his withering form.

“Draco, be careful this year.” Narcissa’s voice intruded his musing on his father. Her voice was the epitome of what every refined Lady of a prominent house hope to be. It carried a weight all to itself and held a poise confidence few witches could even dream to command.

“Of course, Mother.” One couldn’t afford to be anything but careful these days, but Draco knew better than to argue with a mother’s nature.

"Such a beautiful day to take a turn about the gardens, don’t you agree?” Narcissa quietly rose from her chair.

Draco nodded his agreement to his mother’s suggestion. Having only dregs of his beverage Draco quickly finished his cup of his strong tea. When Draco stood it marked the end of breakfast for the Malfoys. Silently, the House Elves cleared the table as if there had never been the spread of teas and scones and marmalades. Sparing no other thought to the table he walked over to his mother side.

Draco had been trained from a very young age. There were many expectations on what it meant to be a Malfoy. However, the most important lessons his mother stressed was what it meant to be a gentleman. The mastery of chivalry was a rarity these days. Some found it antiquated, however, the Malfoys had always found comfort in the continuity it gave society through generations. He offered his mother his arm and they started to stroll down the rows of magical and traditional blooms. His mother presence was very graceful but he could feel she was struggling with something. After the many burdens forcefully doled out on him, he could determine kindred spirits effortlessly. His previous prowess compounded with his developing empathic abilities gave him greater knowledge on what her emotions were at the moment. He assumed their cause could only arise from one thing.

Most purebloods would be enraged to be informed that their heritage had been tainted. It was not an uncommon occurrence for a family to disown a child who would bring shame to the family. To have the family’s only heir go through such a transformation would be unacceptable. It would be a double edge sword for a family to deal with. Not all families would weigh the options that same. Draco was concerned. Especially, since he was already familiar with the scorched branch of his mother’s family even if his mother never spoke of Andromeda.

“Draco, I want you to know how thankful I am to have you as my son.” Narcissa’s voice was soft and refused to allow for too much emotion to enter into her tone, as always.

It had been the figurative dragon in the room glowering at the three Malfoys. Draco realized it was not completely out of the question for them to disown him if his mate ended up being unsatisfactory. It would be suicidal to everyone in the family to reveal his Veela change in a middle of a war and disown him. However, he couldn’t silence the question reverberating in his mind: if he survived the war would he remain a Malfoy? It appeared to Draco that his previously hesitant mother would be willing to broach this difficult subject.

“It is truly a shame that I do not have sibling to keep the Malfoy’s heritage pristine.” Draco swallowed the bitterness he felt and kept his voice just as controlled as was expected of him.

However, Draco regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. It was an unmentionable fact that his mother fought to have more children but always failed. He never liked bring up the topic. All he remembered was how distraught his mother was after a particularly terrible miscarriage when he was nearly five. He knew he should have not uttered those words. He probably should feel guilty for reminding her of it all. He could not deny that he was being selfish. But, his own fears outweighed his prudent judgment.

“You have always been the biggest blessing in my life. You didn’t sully anyone’s lineage, Draco. The way I see it, this is Malfoy heritage and you are a Malfoy through and through.” A timid but reassuring smile graced her lips with a light squeeze on his arm.

“I watched my parents disown a sister. It is something I regret. Witnessing the hurt…” Narcissa stopped herself and decided those words did not need to be finished and sighed. “It was easier to ignore the emptiness then, I had been more concerned about my own betrothal. I am too selfish to ever voluntarily lose you.”

“I doubt my father would agree. I have failed him” Draco picked a flower from the tree overhead and twirled it in between his thumb and index finger.“I cannot give him a pureblood wizard to continue the line. From now on there will be Veela blood in the Malfoy line.” Draco informed his mother frankly.

“The devilishly handsome Malfoy trait had to come from somewhere. There has always been Veela blood in the line. ” Her attempt to pacify Draco’s concern did not succeed.

“Yes, becoming a 2 meter harpy is the very definition of attractiveness Mother.” Why was his mother in denial? A magical creature by any other name is still a monster and he was so concerned. He had done a lot of things he was not proud of over the years. He had trampled over a few individuals a time or two, but never had he feared being excommunicated from his only family. Then again, he never thought he would be such a source of shame.

Quietly, a House Elf approached the pair to remind Draco of the time. Regardless of how ready he was to escape the immediate grasp of Voldemort, he was still nervous of what would await for him during his final year. Both Draco and Narcissa knew it was time for Draco to depart and without further ado they shared their traditional farewell—a kiss on the elder woman’s cheek. His luggage had been shrunken and lightened earlier to be a more convenient size to deal with in the hustle and bustle that was waiting for him at Platform 9 ¾. Draco was thankful that he could apparate on his own this year. This way of transportation was much more effective and therefore preferable. With a crack he left the manor. Before everything in his vision was warped, he noticed the concern on his mother’s face. He hoped those fears did not come to pass.

Draco determined that this had to be a prelude to hell itself. Not that he had expected a jovial welcome, but some sense of couth from his peers would have been welcome. Instead, the immediate reaction to his return after the events of last end-of-term seemed to be one of confusion. Apparently, his mere presence was too baffling for the immature minds surrounding him. Of course, it wasn’t exactly as if Draco had spent the last six years at Hogwarts trying to earn the warm fuzzy feelings of acceptance from them. He had much larger issues to handle. Instead, he focused on remaining tranquil as he dealt with his new condition. Going from the only dealing with a dozen or so nutters at a “homicidals anonymous” meeting to be surrounded by so many people was hardly going to be a smooth transition, but he’d hoped it might be a little easier. Unfortunately, the Fates seemed to have conspired against him once more; what awaited him on the Platform had been not at all what he expected.

The moment he’d appeared at Platform 9 ¾--landing confidently and effortlessly of course, as only a Malfoy could—he’d been totally inundated by the foreign, unwarranted feelings of everyone around him. Being a cool, unruffled sort of person himself, he didn’t quite know what to do with them. He was drowning in the emotions, swift, overwhelming feeling thumping through his veins. Draco reminisced it was similar to the pain of being thoroughly throttled.

Draco had spent the tedious weeks of ghastly solitude in his wing scrutinizing the details available on Veela’s abilities and conditions. However, it did not prepare him for the actual sensation of experiencing his empathetic prowess on such a large scale. He must not have taken enough of the Draught of Peace. Shutting out one person’s feeling was a challenge. A crowd was an entire different battle. Instead he was forced to expressly understand just how much lust Brown appeared to have for some poor fellow. Whatever she felt and for whoever she felt it for; Draco wanted no part of it. Ever.

There was no denying the trepidation that materialized in many of the students’ eyes when they recognized him as he strode through the crowd. Previously, Draco would have felt the rush of power from the students’ ardent attempts to not to cross him, but now he was too unnerved by the sidelong glances and the whispered words to enjoy it. He read the papers. He knew how many of his peers were wanted for interrogations. He also knew that if attendance was mandatory the majority of the school including himself would not be returning to Hogwarts. As he walked through the crowd of hesitant families and reuniting friends, they scurried to the side. It left him a wide path straight to the Express.

One of the side effects of going to Hogwarts was that rumors ran rampant. When students spent months being confined in close quarters, gossip served an important role of entertainment. Any scandalous detail needed to be circulated as quickly as possible. It would appear they would start very early this term as the whispers followed his footsteps. Draco had already prepared himself to deal counter the vicious tales people had concocted during the lonely months of summer. Very few were privileged with the truth. Draco desired that that number did not change. Of course those in the know had no plans in making those details public knowledge. His transgressions would remain unmentionable for now. He was not proud of what he had been pressured to do last term. Instead he focused on the present. Unfortunately, he had to patrol the Express to make sure the students were safe. Didn’t choke on a chocolate frog or something—or so went the quip he had heard from a particularly cynical prefect when he was younger. Ah, the simple joys of being Head Boy.

The trip went relatively quickly, although not completely smooth. There is always one first year on the train every year that makes a complete blistering fool out of themselves. Some poor chap was being teased, apparently, by other titchy sods and it had rapidly dissolved in to a fiasco for Draco to handle. The offenders had taken, and subsequently lost, their victim’s toad familiar, which had caused somewhat of a fight from the wimpy looking kid. They’d managed to bowl into two second year girls, and at one point someone had been tossed into the trolley. No pumpkin pasties for anyone this term, it seemed. A real fricassee. Nevertheless, he almost had the situation sufficiently dealt with when Longbottom decided to intrude.

“A little early to be harassing first years isn’t it Malfoy? Even for you.”

Of course, a Gryffindor had to be there to play savior. On any other day, he might have taken up his usual (dashingly good looking) villain’s role, but Draco had no desire to start anything with any of the Gryffindors this early in the term. “No, the first years seem to be doing that sufficiently on their own.” Draco forced himself not to role his eyes at the Longbottom’s idiocy. How one managed not to see sugar coated destruction orbiting the first years was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t put it pass you. Trying to indoctrinate new snakes to torment the other houses with?”

“Longbottom, pray tell me do I look like a shorting hat? Do I speak in a poetic moronic rhyme?”

“Nothing stops Slytherin from taking matters into their own hands.”

Instead, he elected to play nicely with the daft and toothless lion. He suggested to the Gryffindork that he help the victim find his missing pet. Honestly, these blokes better hope they were not selected to be in Slytherin. This kind of behavior was unbecoming and he sternly warned the boys to check their behavior. He sent a threatening sneer to the group. The first years were slightly quaking. With nothing more to say to the bullies he went off in search of further idiocy, happily avoiding the simpering looks from the second year girls altogether.

When they reached their destination, he informed McGonagall on what he had been able to get out of the debacle. The students, unfortunately, had already earned themselves a nice evening with the Deputy Headmistress. He didn’t even feel sympathy for them. He aided in getting the rest of the first years on their way before he and the Head Girl caught the last carriage to the feast. He had been shocked when he’d seen the Ravenclaw twin with the badge jutting from her uniform. He had expected the position to go the Gryffindor Princess, Ms. Know-it-all herself. However, he then remembered that only purebloods and half-bloods with documented magical lineage had the opportunity to have an education this year. So instead of he was stuck sitting across from a girl he never cared enough to learn the name of.

The carriage ride seemed to take longer than the train ride. She stared at him with her dark brown dilated eyes, mesmerized. She was using a voice she must have thought was seductive but to him it might as well have been the screeches of mermaids. She went on and on how excited she was to work with him while twirling her hair. Excitement barely scratched the surface of the emotion that was oozing from her now. She had attempted to move closer to him, as if he were her prey. Fortunately, Draco’s years as a Seeker kept him in the position of power, firmly away from her grasp. What resulted was a debacle slightly unbecoming of a Malfoy, with the two of them scooting about the cab. She didn’t give up the chase until the carriage stopped, disappointed as she watched him hurry away to safety. He mumbled curses under his breath knowing full well she was biting her lip wolfishly staring at his arse.

Draco stalked into the Great Hall thankful to join his brethren of green.

“Sit next to me.” Draco’s former girlfriend quietly pleaded. Pansy’s request was denied when Draco instead took solace at his rightful seat between the other powerful figures of his house. Thankfully they were both straight males so he didn’t have to worry about them being overwhelmed by lust and wandering hands.

“Congratulations, Head Boy. I bet your father is proud.” Theo took his goblet and toasted Draco’s before he could take a sip.

“Thank you. Which two of you received my previous position of prefect?”

“Unfortunately not I. You will have to forgive me.” Blaise paused for dramatic effect, ensuring he had everyone’s full attention.“Alas, I will not be able to join you on your many moonlit strolls down the corridors, prowling for the elusive and moral-free dregs of Hogwarts that are snoggers.”

“Thankfully, I will have Nott as my companion for Prefect duties.” Pansy politely smiled at the stoic lad.

“Nicely done, Nott. I will rest easier knowing Zabini will not have a carte blanche to be out after hours.”

Blaise never had the opportunity to fire a quip back since everyone became hushed when Snape and his billowing cloak arrived at the podium. It marked the beginning of the term. With that the evening truly began. The house of biased bravery had no issues in showing their disgust when they saw the Head Boy badge gleaming on his uniform during the feast. Headmaster Snape gave the Welcoming Speech informing the students of rules each student would be forced to abide by. He introduced the new professors; however, Draco already had the displeasure of meeting the Carrow siblings, more Deatheaters in Hogwarts. Snape’s version lacked the warmth and flowery nature many of the students expected from the speech, but Draco thought his godfather hadn’t made a bad go of it, and certainly merited more respect than what he was getting from crowd. While Snape’s drawl boomed across the hall, Draco took the liberty of glancing around. It was a shame how many students were missing. Even the Golden Trifecta of Annoyances failed to arrive. Not that he didn’t understand their reasons for remaining hidden. Draco doubted the Boy Who Better Not Die would be able to survive very long if everybody knew where he was during this _delicate political condition_. Education was a terrible thing to waste but then again safety during a war is much more precious.

Never had the Welcoming Feast been so quiet. The constant mummer from countless conversations was still present but the room still felt hallow. There were careful guarded whispers and suspicious glares between the various factions. That wasn’t a completely new occurrence. However, the lack of laughter was a little disconcerting. He felt disappointment flood his system as he turned to his meal. He listened to the different tales from his friends on how boring or wonderful their summer was in attempt for some normalcy. They danced around the subjects connected to the brewing war. Before long the evening was over. As he ushered the new Slytherin first years to their common room, it dawned on him the reason for his sullen mood. He had expected that his mate would have been here tonight. There was a plethora of beautiful pureblood girls. He knew his parents had hoped to match him with either one of the Greengrass daughters before his Veela nature had emerged. Tracey was a very flexible and pleasant looking brunette. He had at least knew what to expect with Pansy if had to marry her. If his mate wasn’t in Hogwarts it meant she was either older, not a British citizen, or was of muggle descent. He had hoped that maybe the Fates would have been kind and she would be here. He had wanted a chance to multitask in keeping himself alive. Instead, it was mandatory that he remain in Hogwarts for the majority of the year he had left. His mother was expecting a note so he headed to the owlery with succinct note.

_No_

_~DM_

He knew his parents would understand the message perfectly.

* * *

 

**We forge the chains we wear in life~ Charles Dickens**


	4. The Devils Are Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's nature wont be denied for much longer.

_The stone carving seemed to glow around Draco. The Celtic engraving had an animated quality about them. They appeared to be an elaborate dance of knots and turns. Across the room there was an over-sized door that had been fastened by vines and branches woven together in perfect symmetry and hardened to stronger than stone. However, out of the corner of his eye he spied a very agitated woman. Her blonde plait was falling apart. There was an escaped tress here and a ringlet there, though her hair was the least of her worries. She kept her constant vigil of pacing and glancing back at the door. Her shoulders were tense; she was afraid of something or someone coming to get her._

_Draco nervously went to approach her and realized what he had mistaken for fidgeting was actually rocking. The woman was a young mother. In her arms a mere babe wept. Draco thanked every deity he could think of the lack of the ability to hear anything, he had no desire to hear the child cry. From the look of the open mouthed red-face child and exhausted looking mother, this fit had been going for a while. The pair had matching pleading ice clear blue eyes. He is not sure whether the mother had whispered terms of endearment, a story, or a lullaby but it calmed the child as its tiny hand reaches out to hold a lock of her hair. She smiled tenderly at her babe._

_The beautiful moment was ruined when something caused the young mother to flinch. There must be something at the door. She kissed her child on the forehead and gently placed the swaddled child in a bassinet that seemed to be a nest of blue silk. A few tears escaped her eyes and ran down her cheek when she went turn to the door. Draco realized that mother did not like her odds against whatever or whoever was ramming the door. He watched shocked as fangs descended from her mouth. All too quickly her nails and feet altered to look like deadly talons. The last addition to her transformation were wings composed of the purest white feathers. They gracefully extended out from her shoulders. From their massive size he understood why the door was so large. It was then that the door crashed open. Men with the Malfoy shields poured into the room; they were already covered in blood. The woman's response to the threat was to create two flaming blue balls of fire in her hands. They did not burn her but looked deadly. He barely blinked but he missed how her orbs of destruction left her hands. He should have seen the Malfoy men scorched or consumed in their own personal infernos but most remained untouched by her attempts to defend herself. They had been prepared for her magic. It would seem it would not be an enough to keep all the men at bay._

_She was outnumbered. Countless of spells were draining her ability to fight them off. Unfortunately, all too soon, one man rushed forwarded and quickly jabbed his dirk up from below her ribcage straight into her heart. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes bore straight back into the unfeeling eyes of her killer. When the man let go of her shoulder and retrieved his weapon, she collapsed to the floor like a fallen angel. Beautiful but broken. He siphoned her blood into a vial before ripping the child from its bassinet. It appeared the child had been unharmed physically from the battle that had ended its mother's life. Draco watched as the broken, burned, and bloody men march back out unconcerned of the blooded wings and Veela bodies strewed across the marble hallway. He went to check on the fallen woman, as his hands reached out to touch her it all began to fade away._

* * *

 

**The Devils Are Here**

One thing led to another, Draco's slight increase in his chosen remedy became a little larger dose and a tad more frequent. Now, just a few weeks after he'd come back to this blasted castle, he was already far past any kind of dosage that could be called healthy. At first it had worked wonders; however, it had quickly failed him. He took more and more of the Draught of Peace. The more he took, the more his Veela nature, his mind, and his body fought each other. It was a struggle that wore heavily on him. Draco wasn't sure how he even got to class this morning all he knew that everything was slightly swimming in his head.

It wasn't per se nauseating but the pink Ministry propaganda poster seemed to be three dimensional on the wall. With all the variants of color, Draco realized if he slowly moved his head just right he could watch magic radiate out of nonexistence wand in all its feminine pinkness. He wondered if the new ministerial decree posters color scheme had anything to do with Umbridge. He was aware she was more involved in Ministry after—the masked neurotics gracefully took over everything. That tragic spinster was the only grown adult who would ever consider using shades of pink for official ministry business. Then again given lonely Dolores predilection for kittens, pink would have been her least offensive aesthetic combination. Yes, strike fear in the hearts of mudbloods everywhere by tiny little tabby chasing yarn over the threatening words. Modeled after McGonagall's animagus to boot. Draco was unaware of the scoff that emitted from him at that imagine.

The new Deputy Headmistress didn't appreciate the interruption. Professor Carrow at first glared at the Gryffindors in the required Muggle Studies class only to realize that the disrespectful noise had come from one of the most prestigious pureblood heirs. However, Draco had been completely unaware of the negative attention he had earned from interpreting her diatribe. He felt a sharp kick on his shin to his right and swung his head to look disdainfully at his best mate. With the look on Blaise's face and glare he was receiving from stocky foul breath Madam Alecto, it dawned on Draco that she had probably had asked him a question. He hated the Ministry edict which made this useless class required. He had better things to do than take Muggle Studies in his seventh year. Salazar's heir! Divination had more academic value and he believed that class was a complete farce.

"Yes" Draco calmly drawled. He really could not feel that anxious with more than twice the recommended dose pulsing through his system.

"Mister Malfoy, you seemed to taken issue with my proposal for dealing with those filthy mongrels. Enlighten the class if you have a better method." Her grin dripped with sinister abhorrence.

Draco could tell that this troll of a woman saw this as a chance to report back to the Supreme Sadist on how once again the Malfoys, the once favored Death Eaters, were continuing to disappoint.

"I do not think it is my concern to decide what to do with muggles." Draco causally glanced at his nails not even bothered to glance at up annoyed witch.

"But they are filthy animals that need to be neutralized. Do you not have any wizarding pride?" The minger spat at him. Of course, he failed to contain his light chuckle.

"You must forgive me, I was under the impression that it wasn't our decision what to do with the muggles. I would hate to assume too much and think I had better plan than…" Draco let the words hang in the air. Everyone knew exactly _who_ he was discussing. "the Ministry on how to deal with the vermin. You will have to forgive me for putting my utmost faith in our leadership."

Draco glanced around the room. From the relaxing body language of his Slytherin peers and the hatred in the eyes of every Gryffindor, he knew he had navigated himself out of that mess. The daft cow huffed in displeasure but obviously had decided that in the room with plenty of the offspring of even more prominent Death Eaters that she could not risk further embarrassment. There were still some Death Eaters who still liked to speak on the lack of faith the Carrow siblings had after the First Wizarding War.

Draco once again turn his gaze at the Ministry poster and did not pay attention to another word of her repetitive lecture. Once the class was dismissed, Draco sluggishly gathered up his items. This semester he was thankful that he had bought a charmed quill that scribbled the professor's words verbatim. It appeared that his mouthing off had made the required essay a tad bit longer on examples of Muggle atrocities. However, as long as you wrote Muggles are filthy animals in your introduction you were going to pass the class. Draco trailed behind the rest of the students who were already meandering their way to their next class. Unfortunately, for the Slytherin House, today was a double Carrow day which meant they would receive their Dark Arts lessons. Outside the hall Blaise leaned against the hallway watching the rest of the students to ensure they were outside of hearing difference before casting a muffliato spell.

"Drake." Blaise glanced expectantly at Draco before once again sweeping to see if anyone could hear them as they continue to walk towards the next classroom. Blaise was always careful to double check any of his work. It was why he was so proficient in potions class.

"I'm fine, Blaise." Draco sighed he didn't want to talk about this.

"Hmm… And all my step-fathers died of natural causes." Blaise flouted Draco refusal to answer.

"I am handling it." Draco paused and prayed this would be enough. Even though they were best friends, purebloods didn't admit to dirtying their lineage. There was no way to explain how a Malfoy could actually be a Veela.

"Are you barmy? You are barely functioning? Now if this is another mission like last year…I get it." Draco felt guilty about lying to Blaise. Blaise's mother was decidedly neutral. Generally, their policy was the less Blaise knew the better. Draco had to interpret Blaise before he asked anything else.

"Blaise, I am going to be fine." Of course the only way he was going to be fine was if he could reverse being a Veela and never discuss it again. However, Draco put his hand on his friend's shoulder hoping it would be enough to get him to drop the conversation.

"You better get some rest during the free period today, you lazy sod." Blaise shook his head but conceded this round to Draco. Draco was relieved. "

"Oi, piss off. I already annoyed one Carrow today. Do you think I can make it two for one." Draco rolled his eye but smiled cheekily at his friend.

"You aren't careful you get a two detentions. You've seen how anxious Crabbe has been to practice his spell."

"He going to end up covering himself in boils if he isn't careful."

Draco really didn't like the new policy the deputy heads had for detentions in Hogwarts. Thankfully, most professors were very unwilling to have their seventh years being forced to use unforgivable curses on their classmates. Even the ghosts had stopped the majority of their pranks just to avoid the risk. Soon enough the pair found their seats in their next class. Draco got his supplies out and the quill went to work taking his notes. He tried to pay more attention in this class. But, it didn't take long before his focus went to wall and his mind drifted away.

* * *

 

Draco was sure that his head was about to implode. The constant pounding had started earlier than he expected again. There was no time to slip back to his private Head Boys room in-between classes to get another vial. Blaise had glared at him when he had attempted to leave lunch early to get more of the Draught. In attempt to show that he was indeed handling his life; Draco had ate double his normal lunch. It seemed to pacify his friend. It was easier to fight the queasy feeling than to explain to Blaise why exactly he needed a potion in his room. Unfortunately, Draco would definitely curse his decision as the day continued on.

He knew that returning to Hogwarts would be a difficult burden. Of course the Ministry had really given him a choice. He had been prepared for obvious disdain for his return because of his previous transgressions. He had hoped the hatred and fear every house felt about him, coupled with his Draught of Peace regime would keep the witches of Hogwarts ignorant of his weakened Veela's pheromones. Oh, how naïve he was. It did not matter what his sins were. Not everyone knew the how involved he was with the events preceding the death of the beloved Headmaster. However, Draco was pretty sure even if he had been the one to inflict the killing curse it wouldn't change anything. It did not matter that the Draught of Peace had altered him from debonair Slytherin prince to death warmed over. It did not matter that he had no inclination to woo any woman there. Any of his former sexual drive had disappeared. Well, no one at Hogwarts could satisfy it. Yet the ladies of Hogwarts were apparently extremely affected by his presence. Due to his heightened senses he did not have the luxury of ignoring their lurid desires.

No, Draco's new Veela prowess made him well aware of how he affected them. These days if he so much as glanced into a woman's eyes, he could see all the wickedly wanton fantasies she had playing out in her thoughts. He wasn't the leading man in all of these productions. Sometimes the Veela pheromones only increased sexual desire instead of directing it towards him. He wasn't sure if it was his own traitorous imagination or a Veela power. Advanced sexual legilimency wasn't in the books as a listed power, but Draco was positive any Veela would have felt the need to save the researcher the embarrassment on this one. In any case, to deal with his current problem Draco had turned to increasing the dosage of his Draught of Peace. He wasn't proud of his decision to take more of the potion, but the idea of being numb to the girls' desires was too tempting to resist.

All he wanted to lock himself in his private dormitory and not see, hear, smell, or feel the emotions of any one. Of course, best intentions were always thwarted. As Head Boy, it was his responsibility to help the other students. It had come to his attention that a few of them were struggling. He had planned to help some third years with a particularly difficult Transfiguration examination coming up. Of course, he wasn't the best humanitarian. Hell, he wasn't even always a decent human being, but he took his responsibilities seriously. He didn't want Professor McGonagall to get any ammunition for why he should be replaced as Head Boy. His own father hadn't even earned the Head Boy badge; he would not let his desire to cocoon himself in blankets get himself demoted. He should have known better than try to help them on a Friday afternoon, but they asked him. There wasn't much to do any more in Hogwarts with the new additions to security. Every night all the dormitories magically sealed the students in. Some of them had wanted some help before the lockdown went into effect. So down to the dungeons he went, ready to explain the material they should already have learned. Although, Draco was not the most tender-hearted individual he was very good with tutoring people in a non-threatening manner. He even had been blessed with very few females being in the common room at the time. He thought it be safe enough not to get another vial.

The small group was making progress. Draco was so engrossed with the work he didn't realize how much he was sweating. His dependence on the Draught had given him hot-flashes—his body's attempt to excrete the atrocious chemicals out. Thus, he was overheated even in the drafty dungeons. Usually, Draco would know that once he started to perspire and fidget to excuse himself and go to his room. Today, was going to be his unlucky day. His first mistake occurred when he causally slipped out his heavy robes and left them on the back of a nearby chair. He was too preoccupied with explaining what McGongall expected for the exam. It was like old times before the war and his inheritance. He hadn't been thinking of anything of his raising body temperature. The next error in judgment happened when he loosened and tossed his tie on the table. Then Draco unconsciously fidgeted with his top button and rolled up his sleeves as two of the students asked actually non-idiotic questions. His undivided attention had been on his fledgling peers so he hadn't realized he had attracted some unwanted attention.

There was no way for him to know whether Pansy had just been innocently concerned with Draco or saw an opportunity to proposition Draco. Not that it would have mattered if a concerning question or horrendous line about relieving his tension was on the tip of her tongue when her fingertips grazed his forearm. Draco sharply inhaled. He prayed to all deities for her to walk away. This could not happen here, now, or ever. Unfortunately, Draco watched as Pansy dark eyes dilated as her system was flooded with his hormones. He knew this was dangerous. It was common knowledge that she had never fully gotten over their break up and had always held out some hope of reconnecting. It was a dangerous accelerant to fuel her desire for him. Her common sense and inhibitions were overwhelmed. Pansy launched herself at him. Draco was too surprise. His feet were unsteady. Instead of holding his ground, he was pushed back to the couch. He knew he was in trouble; she had cornered him. Her tactics were bent only toward achieving the most primal of goals. She had wanted to seduce him—right then and there—regardless of who bore witness. She didn't care about the reactions of their peers. Even if she had had a few more partners other than him in her time, Pansy always retained some decorum and waited for a man's company in privacy. Pansy wasn't a slag. But she was acting more desperate and unreasonably than he'd ever known her to behave. All he could feel through the entire ordeal was sharp pain as she brazenly straddled his lap.

His friend and former lover was inflicting torture on him with her unwanted mouth, crude nails, vindictive teeth, and rotating hips. It was a struggle to keep the nausea in check. She clawed at him like a beast tearing the buttons off his shirt in her haste. He was constantly fighting to get her hands away from his belt buckle. Now, the Veela was disgusted. His pleas to stop were ignored. This was turning to be his worst nightmare. The level of embarrassment was too much. Draco was familiar enough with Pansy to know these moans meant she was all too close to achieving her ends. That realization only infuriated the Veela. Pansy was not his mate. Veelas needed only their mates. He was his mate's alone and his mate was his alone. Pansy had no claim or right to touch him in any way. Draco had enough and let his instincts take over. He wandlessly performed an incarcerous spell on Pansy to bind her hands from reaching out for him again and forcibly pushed Pansy off of him. Mostly only her feminine pride was truly injured. He realized in his urgency that if she had landed wrong the she might have had to spend a weekend in the ward. However, the anger wasn't dissipating. Draco felt sick and felt only more pain coming. The worst wasn't over yet. Just like in his third year after being punched by the bookworm, he ran like a coward. He did not even stop to collect his things as Nott picked Pansy off the floor.

"Take her to the infirmary and get the Headmaster." Draco growled at them at a voice he barely even recognized as his own. He felt his bones start to shift. The book said the first time shifting was always the slowest and most painful. Draco knew he could not remain in the common room and allow them to see his transformation.

His door rattled on its hinges, the victim of undignified treatment. Draco's attempt to close the door to his room was violent enough to qualify as a fruitless venture to shut out all of Hogwarts from his entire existence. His actions were unintentionally rough and crude. If the exhaustion wasn't placing such a heavy burden on him he would have scolded himself for how unrefined he was behaving. Then again how he entered a room was the least of his concerns at the moment. Instead, bile and acid burned his throat as he emptied his stomach contents on the floor. He was still shaking violently with the after effects of his stomach's violent attempt to get rid of everything he'd eaten in the last few days. Bile was not even the worse taste in his mouth at that moment. His tongue felt it had been rubbed raw. With the excruciating amount of pain his respiratory system was in he felt Pansy might as well had dumped burning coals down his throat. His head was buzzing, beast within him was uneasy. He felt unnerving pressure in his jaw as his canines descended to be true fangs. He clawed at his tattered uniform; they were drenched with Pansy's scent. The smell was beyond offensive. However, his fingernails were talons and he only proceeded to leave new and deeper scratches to match Pansy's marks. Seeing her attempts to claim him made the creature inside him snap as he continued to change into his true Veela form. He ripped the mirror from the wall and tossed furniture toward the door. But, still he was not satisfied. So, he ripped the bed linens off his bed and then shredded the mattress. Maybe enough destruction would satisfy the need to seek revenge. He scorched his tattered clothes; he knew he would never wear them no matter how he cleaned or mended them. Thankfully, the furniture was spelled not to catch fire. It was practically finished when he realize he had unwittingly created a nest out of his sheets, bedspread, and loose feathers from the ripped pillows. Draco collapsed faced down panting into the emerald pile his wings keeping him warm. His eyes rolled back in head for he finally had been able to pacify the beast. Draco truly fell asleep on the stone cold floor like an animal.

Tranquil slumber was not what greeted him once he descended into the subconscious world. It was happening again. The same cursed bloody dream he dreaded every night. Before him the visions playing surpassed the bounds of his confusion. The scenes he saw every night were more disjointed than a Divination class taught by Luna Lovegood. For most of his life, Draco had felt a part of his usual dreams, and had at least been able to follow the plot. This reoccurring dream was practically alien in comparison. Draco swore someone had ripped parts forcefully from his mind mere seconds before it was supposed to play out. He was left with fragments—bollocks! They were fragments of remnants at best! The scenes lucky enough to survive the phantom director's cut and make it into his dream were flashy and fuzzy, like an old Muggle movie improperly shown in an earlier year of Muggle Studies. Worse still, the grainy images played out in complete silence. Although, he entertained the notion that the constant pressure in his head, lovingly gifted by his newfound inheritance, could not be entirely to blame for that. His ears sometimes rung at such an excruciating decibel even when he was waking, that he felt like if his precious ear drums would simply give way.

However, Draco was pretty convinced that his ears were not the cause of the silence in his dreams. These productions his mind had created for him every night were unlike anything he had ever seen. The scenes did not seem to connect in any logical way, but every one of them had the Malfoy Crest hidden somewhere within. The mark was familiar enough that he could recognize it anywhere, but it didn't make any sense. Once it appeared on the hilt of a sword, once it was the image dancing in wreathing flame, the signet on a horse's reigns, the seal of a letter, a brand on a ring and a multitude of other things that left Draco feeling like he must be going mad. And each time the dream would end with Draco looking down upon his own body and seeing the Malfoy crest burning on his chest, as if the flaming pattern had started within and burst through his skin in a ghoulish vision.

Each time he woke he could barely get his lungs to function. This time had been even worse than usual. His throat was so raw that each gasp for air sounded like a dreadful whimper. He may have retired early but he remained utterly exhausted. Given the darkness in his bedroom, it was the dead of night. Draco was sure he had missed dinner that evening. He did not care. The need for food seemed trivial with his flesh still stinging from Pansy's touch. Draco cradled his pounding head. The motion gave him a little solace. Though he was relieved that he was human again in appearance. The view of his own chest reminded him of his state. His thoughts were flooded with memories. Memories that made him choke once again on the acid that remained in his stomach.

He fancied himself a strong man, but his usually confident stride was reduced to a humble wobble as he made his way to his private bathroom. He had denied his Veela for too long. In this weakened state it was a struggle just to get his muscles to function. As he tried to navigate the destruction. Once he'd made it to his destination, he collapsed against the wall of the shower and waited for the hot water to ease is pain. He hissed in pain as the water felt scalding on his body, but he began the process of scrubbing his skin raw. This was his attempt to purify himself. This was more than a simple want to erase residual dirt and scent. It had become absolutely essential that all traces from this ill-gotten episode left his body and surged down the drain. Draco's figure quickly transformed under the boiling hot water and his harsh ministrations to a garish shade of red, a far cry from his traditional pristine porcelain. He was not sure how long he spent allowing the water to pound on his skin. But long enough bathroom was full of hot steam which he hungrily gulped down. As the vapor entered him it soothed his tender throat and lungs. Once he turned off the water the haze of steam dissipated, allowing him to see the small pool of water outside the floor of the door of the shower, left by his carelessness. Draco croaked, an attempt at a huff of amusement at the chaos that seemed to follow him. He carefully sidestepped the mess and grabbed a dark green towel, and wrapped it securely about his waist. He didn't really care to correctly dry himself off when he was as sore as he felt presently.

Out of habit, he went over to his sink where a small row of Draught of Peace vials were lined up, seeming to jeer at him in the light. It was proof of how dependent he had become now. Draco forcibly grabbed the one nearest him. Usually, he could overcome the disgust he felt for himself for ingesting the potion, but not this day. There was too much hatred bubbling forth in his heart to discount his self-derision. Before he tipped the bottle's contents down his throat, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He no longer recognized himself; he was a ghoulish visage of his former self. What solace had he ever received from this brew? It became apparent to Draco in that moment that he had been contaminating himself in an attempt to keep his Veela condition a secret.

Why?

Secrecy surely hadn't been a blasted benefit. He was miserable every single day. This charade was worthless. People were starting to notice how different he was looking and acting. Merlin, only knows what they are thinking now. The potion hadn't been able to aid him in keeping the girls from reacting to him. It didn't keep any one fantasies secret. It didn't keep Pansy rational. No, her attempt to shag him for all to bear witness showed how little this vial did to secure him. All he had wanted was a token of protection, was that too much to ask for? Instead, the Draught of Peace was obliterating the man he was. All it was doing was keeping him stagnant in his development. How much more would he inflict on his body, mind, and spirit. How much weaker did he have to become?

_Weakness is unacceptable._

That drivel had been pounded into his skull so soundly that he was sure it was etched on the bone itself. Draco could not even fathom a guess at how often he had heard this statement in his life growing up. The weak do not survive wars. The weak do not prosper. The weak are disgraceful. The weak are useless. The weak are doomed. He never wanted to be weak, and Merlin help him he would not allow this weakness to flourish now. He had obeyed. He had followed everyone else's instructions on how to be a man, a wizard, an heir, and now a Veela. Their directives were wrong. When his father hears about this incident it would sure to be hell. None of the older eligible purebloods they wanted him to meet and bond with would accept the invitation to come to the Manner during the holidays if they find out what he had done to Pansy. The value of the Malfoy name would be in flux until after the war had been won. There were plenty of well-respected family attempting to hedge their bets to be secure if either side found victory. No smart family would risk an ill-advised match no matter how much gold was in the vault.

He smashed the vials violently against the mirror. The resulting sound was so fulfilling, he couldn't help but smirk at the turquoise opalescence mosaic of shards and ruined potion before him. What a beautiful piece of destruction. Tomorrow he would deal with the consequences. Instead, he let the exhaustion lull him back to sleep on the floor of his bedroom. Stiff back be damned

* * *

 

**Hell is empty and all the devils are here~ William Shakespeare**

* * *

_Author Note_

Thank you for all the support.  I hope I can continue to produce something that is enjoyable to read.  

            TreeGoddess—your comment about Draco being a privileged little shit makes me happy. To answer your question, yes, the dream was about his Veela ancestor.

            TBeth—you are too kind.  It is a little different. I sometimes get a little worried it goes a little OCC but I am trying to not worry about and instead just post and see how this develops.

I had hoped to update sooner. However exam prep has taken over. There will not be an update until August after the examination. Chapter 5 and even part of Chapter 6 is written just not enough time or mental ability to edit them presently.  I am sorry to have left you all wanting. 

xoxo

bluesuitharold

 

 


	5. Measure Of His Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences come to light.

_It was exceedingly too bright. Pupils were sun-drenched and scorched by the overflow of light. His eye lids fought against it through an erratic pattern of blinks. It was a vindictive cycle of sharp blinding white followed by the onerous red. He eased himself onto his side to avoid the haughty sun's cruel treatment on his vision. There was no sound, only light. The grainy, out of focus world around him was hard to stand._

_He struggled to his feet using a convenient nearby stone to keep his balance. Once he had regained enough of his vision to see straight, he took in his surroundings. The meadow in which he found himself was dotted by thick wildflowers and grasses. The vivid colors swirled in what appeared to be a gentle breeze. Altogether, it painted a peaceful picture until Draco noticed the telltale flash of metal at the edges of the forest line—the armor and sword of some unknown. If he'd had more time and better bearings, he would have tried to hide himself. As it was, he could do little but watch as a frenzied horse and windswept knight came bolting past the tree-line galloping over a fallen trunk. They charged through the field, rider attempted to reign in his frightened animal. The man's efforts were for naught. Despite his apparent skill his beast still reared. Its brutal strength left the rider shaken, fighting to stay upright. The horse would not be appeased and the knight's stubborn will was not enough to stop it from throwing him._

_The rider met the unforgiving earth in what appeared to be a hard crash, his horse continued to thrash and fight madly against a foe which quite clearly didn't exist. Somehow, the knight was fortunate enough not be trampled by his steed in its rush to flee, but remained motionless for far too long. Draco felt as if he should be doing something to help, but he didn't know if he could. Was the man actually hurt? Was it safe to move and check? Could he even help? He thought the safest solution might be to try to find answers from afar. He tried to raise his voice, to call out to the stranger, but his mouth was suddenly dry. His tongue felt akin to sandpaper against the roof of his mouth._

_Before he could become too distressed over his state of silence, he was nearly frightened out of his skin by a woman coming out of the stone beside him. She must have been a spirit, a nymph, or some beauty of the forest. With a clear sense of purpose, she ran to the fallen rider. She fell to her knees by his side, and Draco almost felt he should look away. The moment when man and woman locked gazes was intensely powerful and terribly private. It was as if to the pair that the whole world around them was humming as they looked into each other's' eyes. It was evidence of the cliché love at first sight. A type of magic Draco remained vehemently skeptical about even with the two before him._

_The maiden gently cradled the knight's head against her knee, begging her newfound champion not to move just yet. There the two remained engrossed in what limited conversation and injured, love-struck man could give. Draco averted his eyes to try to give them some modicum of privacy, uncomfortable with the sheer intimacy in their expressions. He turned away only to spot the troublesome horse that had started all this. It had apparently run its terrified self out, and was chewing grass contentedly between the new couple and Draco. He glared at it, for a moment sympathetic to the horseman's plight. The steed didn't mind his scathing glower, only turned the other way to grab a bit of greener grass, showing off the Malfoy crest proudly displayed on its halter._

_He had no idea what such a thing would be doing, glinting from the flank of a stranger's horse. Had the man stolen it from his family? Curiosity quickly outweighed his confusion and he eased himself away from rock. Draco took a step toward the horse and his family's crest, managed one sure foot forward, and fell. The earth crumbled around him, senses simmering down to nothing—for everything ended full circle once again._

* * *

**Measures Of His Worth**

Right before dawn a timid house elf named Tokkey nudged Draco awake. Draco was sore and cold. Then again that was not a surprise when he had spent the night on the dungeon floor in the beginning of October. He was shocked to open his eyes and see the little creature's unnerving gaze. He could not recall when he had ever seen a house elf look so petrified in his entire life. Then again the absolute state of destruction around his dormitory gave plenty of reasons to justify that fear. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Sometime during the night Draco had wrapped himself in his green silk sheets. It would seems the Fates had decided to spare him some embarrassment. Draco could not imagine the horror for both of them if the creature had seen him stark naked on the floor in this mess. It had been a pretty awkward exchange of words between him and the frighten house elf. Since Draco had a few qualms about standing up given his state of dress and the mere height of the house elf; he had the conversation on the floor with as much dignity he could muster. He was successful in convincing Tokkey to deliver the response to the message that had placed the pair in this unsightly predicament. When the house elf popped out of his room Draco released a great sigh as he shook his head in mild disbelief.

Draco had been requested to go to the Headmaster's office before breakfast. There was no time to dilly dally. Draco had summoned a clean uniform and went make himself presentable. In the bathroom, he mindlessly went through his elaborate ritual. He went to grab a vial of the Draught only jerk his hand back when the slick potion had oozed all over the sink. He made quick work to clean up the bathroom from the broken glass. Before long not a single trace of Draught of Peace or Veela destruction was left in the bathroom. By the time he waltz back into his bedroom three different house elves had made quick work to rectify the state of his room. There was no masking the fear in the little creatures' gigantic eyes. He knew there was no point to try to explain what had happened. Any attempt would only make the elves more uncomfortable. He quietly left the Dungeon before a single student had woken up.

It did not take too long standing next to the craved gargoyle before the passageway opened. He heard his godfather's somber voice beckon him in. Draco wondered why Snape hadn't given him the password yet. This wasn't the first time a house elf was sent to bring him here in ungodly early hours of the morning this year. However, when Draco had broached the subject his requested was ignored. Snape sat down behind the large desk with Dumbledore portrait twinkling behind him. Draco quickly followed suit. The Headmaster called for tea. Of course, Tokkey was the house elf that brought the tea. The little thing was shaking so much a little bit of the hot water splashed on the tray. His godfather raised an eyebrow at Draco from the house elf's uncharacteristic behavior and swift departure.

"Is there anything you care to explain?" He said as he poured two cups of steaming hot tea.

"Are you referring to the events of last night or what scared the elf?" Draco's attempt at being humorous did not sway Snape at all. So he took a gulp of his tea and started at the beginning and tried to use the most delicate word selection to explain the events.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson bruised her tailbone. I am concerned how this happen though. Tomorrow will be exactly four months since your birthday. I was under the impression you had your Veela nature under control." Snape wasn't known for the most expressive face. However the slight arch of his eyebrow meant if Draco did not honestly confess the consequences would be dire.

"In an attempt to control my Veela side I just took more Draught. One thing lead to another until the Pansy landed herself in the infirmary and the Veela fully emerged. It… I completely destroyed my dormitory with talons and fireballs. Possibly gave the elf a minor cardiac episode this morning." Draco look sheepishly up at his godfather. Historically, this tactic didn't have the greatest success rate but it was best one he had at the moment.

Snape used his right hand to rub his temple. His godfather was beginning to lose patience with him.

"For someone with your intellect I never quite understand how devoid of reason you are. A full Veela being forced to mate against their will have been known to killed their unwanted suitors. Or have you neglected to read about Veela history and your new legal rights? How much Draught of Peace have you been taking? Please tell me you haven't surpassed 200 milliliters in a 24 hour period."

"In the beginning…" Draco stopped when godfather crossed his arms over his chest. The truth was a pesky thing; it usually only led to disappointment. Yet, Draco knew better than to fib right now.

"For the last couple of weeks I have ingested close to liter daily. To try to keep myself numb."

"Draco, did I or did I not educate you both legillmency and occlumency? You could have permanently enter a dream like state and never regain consciousness. Do you have a desire to remain in a vegetative state at St. Mungo's?"

"I know, I just thought it would work." Draco huffed. It had worked for a few months before an incident happened. However, the pressure he felt coupled with the glare he was receiving from his godfather reminded Draco that bit of information was not going to help his case. He already knew he botched this up horribly.

"I was obviously wrong. I risked my life, the lives of my friends, and risked everyone finding out my condition. I stopped taking the Draught of Peace last night." Draco quickly recited how much he completely messed things up. He was thankful that the Headmaster could tell how much of an idiot Draco felt like due to his behavior. He rather not have to admit it. Snape accepted Draco response with a curt nod.

"Well, first off Madam Pomfrey is now aware of your condition. I will announce at breakfast that Pansy is being treated." Snape paused to look Draco directly in the eyes.

"It was terrible she was poisoned by a particularly nefarious love potion. I am sure Professor Slughorn will verify that the supplies for such a potion are missing from the potions cupboards. However, you are to meet with me frequently for extra lessons on occlumency. I am going to have to inform Madam Pomfrey to your prolific use of the Draught of Peace. Be prepared that she will want to see frequently as well. However, given how your father will react; at this time, I feel no need to contact your parents to inform them of your additional head boy duties." The Headmaster finished sentencing him for his crimes.

"Madam Pomfrey knows…"Draco head collapsed in his hands. He knew he had gotten off easy, but it wasn't enough to stop the complaint from slipping out. Horrible habit whining. He should probably work on that.

"She was very concerned about your health and the health of her students. It appears a decade ago the American Wizarding School had a seventh year come into her inheritance in the spring and three of her classmates had unplanned pregnancies while she remained non-bonded during the school year." Snape informed the youngest Malfoy. Poor man probably had heard a much longer lecture from the matron.

"Veelas have no effect on others fertility outside of their mates." Draco looked appalled. He had no wants or desires to impregnate three witches; knowing he had to reproduce with one witch was bad enough! His Veela was nauseated at the very suggestion.

"No, but full or half Veela's pheromones do raise the libidos of others around them. Especially, if the forgo bonding with their mate. Your mate not being an outlet for your pheromones as your body produces more in the pursuit to attract her might cause more patients for Madam Pomfrey." The Headmaster had a hint of a smirk starting at the corner of his mouth as he dismissed the Head Boy out.

There was a litany of colorful curses that Draco wanted to say but knew far too better than to voice them. The curse of being a Veela was never ending trouble. He excused himself and went down to breakfast there weren't many students yet but soon enough the majority all trickled in to the Great Hall. Before his housemates worked up the nerve to begin interrogating him, Snape delivered his speech. The Headmaster explained how disappointed he was in this unknown prankster that had elected to poison Miss. Parkinson. Given the nature of how much supplies were missing, they only assumed Miss Parkinson was not the only victim. There would be double patrols until the prankster was caught and bought to justice unless the prankster turned himself or herself into the Headmaster promptly. The Headmaster stressed the importance to go see Madam Pomfrey if anyone had any of the symptoms.

Draco was not sure his peers would actually listen to Snape. Maybe they would question whether the reason why they were randy was hormone based or from a sinister potion. It might help keep a few knees together. It was more important to have a good cover story to save Pansy from utter disgrace. Not many purebloods would have married her if they believed Pansy had been in her right mind when she so intimately engaged him in the common room. Purebloods were hypocritical and archaic when it came to the chastity of their brides. A publically exhibitionist bride could not become Lady of a House. The Headmaster had saved Pansy's reputation. If only the world knew Severus Snape's propensity of being the hero. It was the wizarding world best kept secret.

* * *

 

It had been a little more than two weeks, and Draco hated his life. Being off the Draught was worse than being on the Draught. His muscles would twitch sometimes incessantly for hours. He was thankful that the breaking out in a cold sweat had finally subsided. All in all, his mood was pretty foul. He got very aggravated by mild annoyances due to not having the Draught of Peace to take away excessive anxiety away. He hated the constant fatigue. But he hadn't broken down to go back on the Draught. There were times where it was all too tempting. It helped that Draco felt he never had time anymore. He was always busy.

The Headmaster had arranged it that he didn't have time to even consider brewing more potion. Draco was either in class, on double patrol, with Snape for extra lessons, or putting up with Pomfrey. The nurse would fret all about him delivering hushed slightly scorned directions for how to properly deal with his condition. Whether that condition meant his Veela nature, the withdrawal, or his attitude depended on her mood. Pomfrey had him bath in an elixir to help reduce his pheromones. Couldn't risk affecting the innocent ladies under her charge. The worse part was the smell. However, no one else seem to notice its rank odor. It was slightly irritating but less so than unwanted advances and Pomfrey's lecture when he forgot to use it. Draco did get a laugh when a few girls came to hospital wing the weekend of the incident claiming they had been poisoned by the love potion. It never cease to amaze Draco what people would do to be notice and talked about. Attention seekers do some very strange things.

However, there weren't much laughs at his other scheduled appointment. The lessons with Snape had helped. He had not expected how frequently Snape had required the lessons. While it was easier better than sitting in the common room, it was more time consuming. If he focused he could block the visuals coming from his peers. However, he still felt he was bathing in everyone else's emotions. Gone were the days he could be shelter himself in wondrous apathy. Snape had postulated that the empathic ability was not link to the magic of the mind but more related to olfactory development from the transition. There were times he wish he could numb his sense of smell. However, when he voiced that desire Draco was reminded it wasn't allowed. He hadn't found his mate. It was dangerous to damage that vital sense. This made him feel more like a savage animal than a wizard. Someone better Avada him if when he finally finds his mate he on all fours sniffing her like a dog. More things he will have to worry about later. Presently, he just have to deal with the unavoidable daily assault of emotions.

There was a time that he would have been delighted in having this power to sense people emotions. Oh, the secrets he knew about people. Like Bulstrode fancied both Crabbe and Goyle. There was fifth year Hufflepuff bloke questioning which gender he liked. Longbottom liked Lovegood. He'd would have the upper hand if he were to exploit telling something the person did not want to be public knowledge. Although, Longbottom's feelings were public knowledge to everyone but the Gryffindor. The desire to grab power had waned. It was not satisfying. With his own concerns of keeping his own secrets private, he did not want to know anyone else's private emotions. He regretted knowing the truth. Some of the secrets were painful and he did not like their burden of knowing them.

Nothing weighed on him more than guilt of knowing his best friend's secret. Blaise Zabini was most ardently smitten for Miss Ginevra Weasley. No one would have ever suspected it. Zabini was known to be so selective when it came to women. His mother was considered in many circles to rival both Helen of Troy and Cleopatra in beauty. It made sense he would such a tough critic of feminine beauty. Although, it was more than unrealistic aspirations that made Blaise selective. It is possible that the blame did reside in his mother. Being the son of the Black Widow Witch had jaded Blaise. He never really trusted women or romance. Blaise could poke fun anyone romantic adventures or brush off any rumors of his mother with a quick gibe and a smirk. Yet when it came to his own romantic interests, he would be completely detached from the subject. For the longest time, Draco simply believed the reason of the indifferent came from the carousel of step fathers and his mother's former suitors. He had always respected his best friend's privacy on the matter and never pushed the subject.

Of course with this history made Blaise's feelings more astounding. Draco had known him for years and never had an idea his best friend had deep feelings for Weaslebee's little runt of a sister. To make matters worse, the spitfire witch was madly in love with Scarhead. Everyone knew it. It didn't take the Veela prowess to deduce who her heart skip a beat for, who made her knees buckle, and who she dreamed about in the dark of the night. Blaise knew that she would never pick him over the Promised One. Draco could feel Blaise pain from accepting this fundamental truth. He loved her despite it all. Blaise lived with the longing and pain of knowing it would never be. She was deeply rooted in his heart. All the while, he didn't exist in her eyes.

Information like this gave Draco plenty to think about during his long patrols. Thankfully, most students did not want to risk the wrath of the Carrow siblings. Most nights even though they were double the length of traditional sweeps they did not take too long. He thought it would have been another uneventful patrol night with a rather dull Macmillian. Draco had become very skilled to ignore his droning. When they came down the stair case and happened upon Headmaster Snape with Longbottom, Lovegood, and Weasley, Draco knew things were definitely awry. Tonight would not be simple evening sauntering the halls.

"The sword belongs to Gryffindor. So we were just going to take it back the common room where it should rightfully be, Headmaster." Of course the only one who wanted to explain their actions was the one Ravenclaw in the bunch. It had been a logical argument. Just one that did not sway the former Slytherin Head of House.

"You all will serve detention with Hagrid. He is complaining of taking care of some sick thestrals. If you are caught out again however, then the deputy Heads will request you serve detention with them." From the glares the two Gryffindor were giving Snape they obviously misinterpreted the Headmaster's attempt to warn them as a threat. The house infamous for their blind bravery did not understand art of being subtle.

When the annoyed Headmaster saw Draco and Macmillian, he promptly requested they escort the three trouble makers back to their prospective common rooms. Lovegood said good evening to the both of them while the Gryffindor grumbled under their breath. Draco raised his eyebrow on why Lovegood was being friendly to both of them. She just smiled back. It was not long before Macmillian complained about having how much walking he done for the night. Draco did not want to hear the complaints of the four of them. Draco directed that Macmillian take the Gryffindors to their common room and he take the Ravenclaw. Longbottom glared at him but didn't muster up anything to say about Lovegood being escorted by lone Slytherin. The Gryffindor's concerns were preposterous like Draco would ever be remotely interested. What was Draco's reward for shortening the distance to cover tonight? He got the privilege to hear the quirky witch talked nonsense at him the entire way up to the tower. He was about to leave when the very unusual girl called out to him.

"Malfoy, you know you should really consider meditating. It would help you find things you are missing a lot faster and you wouldn't be so cranky." Lovegood spoke in her normal whimsical tone as she read the riddle on the entry.

Draco looked at her like she grown two heads; he was very much regretting escorting her instead of the two annoying bravery brats. But the Ravenclaw was less likely to attempt to deck him and he did not fancy being wailed on by the best mate's infatuation.

"Well, you know Longbottom fancies you." Draco sneered back at the strange blonde. He was not very good at not having the last word. Draco figured if should never be forced to uncomfortable alone.

"Yes, he is just taking his time. Nothing wrong with waiting to pursue, don't you agree?" She then quietly went into the Ravenclaw tower with a knowing smile.

Draco rolled his eye and started his stroll back to his room in the dungeon. Dumbledore's Army just had to do everything in their power to ruin a completely normal evening. It was good thing that wards on the common room were charmed to allow patrolling prefects and head boy and girl to access to their common rooms because there was no way he would make it before the portrait sealed otherwise. He had assume that this year he would get some sleep because the Galling Triad was on the lam. Instead, he had traded one trio for another. What were the odds both were made up of one orphan, one ginger, and one lecturing know-it-all? Nothing ever changes! Loony Lovegood telling him to meditate like Granger telling him to start handing out socks to house elves for her spewing advocacy. Was it too much to ask for one year he didn't have to step in a mess created by the good doers. Draco would capitulate that these three had caused less issues but were less successful with their shenanigans. If they had half the propensity of original group of sticking their wands where they shouldn't, then Draco would be just as vexed.

* * *

Alright all he had to do was to go to his meeting with the Headmaster. On his itinerary was forge more and more sophisticated mental defenses. Hopefully soon his godfather would not require as many meetings. Draco had already had a bad day. His head was pounding. Of course, when Carrow siblings had found out that Potter's one true love had landed herself in detention but had slipped out of their opportunity to punish her they were a little upset. They assigned extra assignments. Now Crabbe had spent half the day talking about what he would do if he caught any of the three on their way back to their shinny little towers. Of course, this unnecessary tirade had only upset Blaise. No one noticed the emotional carnage. He appeared to be his normal haughty, broody self. The potion prodigy might have been a little more forceful chopping potions ingredients than necessary. While out of character behavior, not exactly damning that he was upset from Crabbe's sadistic fantasies. However, Draco had to sit with his best friend all day and now was emotionally drained. How any man could be that ailed for a woman he isn't related to or shagging was beyond reason. Yes, he realize he would be equally deranged about his future mate but he had no plans to be that besotted and abstinent. At dinner, Draco had even tried to sneak in something about how all the little lions would sneak back to their towers unharmed for they were still the majority of the professors' favorite. This did nothing to stop the flood of anxiety and sour spirit from his favorite Slytherin Chaser. At least he tried Draco mused. Draco might have to give Blaise his contraband Odgen's bottle after the lesson with Snape.

…Of course….Things would not go to plan…

Could blasted Longbottom be a gentleman and escort Weasley back to their ivory tower where they belonged? No! Instead of being able to go to his meeting and deal with his own problems; he would be derailed tonight. He found Crabbe. Of all the times for Crabbe's hair brain scheme to work, it had to be this time and on Draco's watch. Crabbe wanted to prove how big and tough he was. He just wanted to get the chance to be branded. He was a fool to want to be part of the big boys club in the Voldemort league. If only he could tell Crabbe he wasn't missing much. Ginny was wheezing on the floor her wand out of her grasp. Merlin, he thought she was suppose to be a marginally better duelist that the Weasel King. He figured she be able to handle Crabbe.

Draco did not want to do this. He was not the golden boy hero. It is not his responsibility to recuse high profile damsels in distress. Well, it was his responsibility to stop people from breaking Hogwarts rules. But, for all he knew this behavior, no matter how grotesque, might have been allowed by Professor Carrow. Draco had tried to avoid being directly confrontational with the siblings. He just would scare people to run off if they were in the hall. Most people were avoiding being out in the halls at night these days. So Draco hadn't been force to deliver any student to either of the Deputy Heads. He would like not deliver either one of them. Of course, Crabbe had to search out Weasley. They hadn't seen him yet. He could just slink away. It was not his job to protect anyone in the family who lived in the shoe affectionately known as the Burrow. However, she whimpered. He could feel her pain. He knew she would be in worse shape if he left her alone. He remembered how distraught Blaise was about this freckled face sixth year. This was what Blaise had feared all day. To leave would make Blaise's nightmare a reality. Draco Malfoy was not savoir, but he didn't want to leave a witch to get abuse. This was not the time for a crisis of conscience. He did not inherit the no self-preservation gene that seem to be a biological imperative of holier than thou Order members. Crabbe was already a little winded, hopefully, it would end soon. Unfortunately, like her annoying Weasel of a brother, the girl did not know when to keep her mouth shut.

"Do your worse, you are still going to lose you bigoted piece of shit."

Yes, great idea Weaslette belittle the brute with all the power. Not like she was in danger or anything, She was just covered in boils and bleeding on the ground. This was more proof for Draco's theory that everyone had injected the word bravery where the word idiotic was meant to go. This was  _lovely_. Draco sighed and reminded himself that this was for his best mate. There was no way he wanted to deal with him upset about this tomorrow because Crabbe did unforgivable or unspeakable things to the woman Blaise loved. Draco quickly calculated up a plan and hoped it would be enough to fool his former body guard.

"And what do we have here?" Draco interrupted the pair before Crabbe had decided what curse to use on the witch in response.

Crabbe was so proud of himself it was a little ghastly. Especially, when Draco realized that Ginny's head was bleeding and Crabbe had probably taken her down by surprise with brute force instead of magical ability.

"Told you I'd get the blood traitor, Malfoy." The stout man grinned down at his victim.

"Hmm… I see that. Why don't you report back to Carrow. I'll finish up here." Draco sneered at him.

The wheels turned slowly in other Slytherin's mind. However, Draco had directed him to believe what he wanted. Before he left Draco asked whether he might have blood traitor's wand and Crabbe gleefully handed it over before he went to seek his reward from the new sinister sibling professors. Once Draco could no longer hear the heavy steps of Crabbe he dropped his sneer and started to examine Ginny. Draco elected to ignore the barrage of insults directed towards him. Of course, the Weaselette had a higher pitch version of her annoying brother's vulgar tongue. He reminded himself, he was doing this for Blaise not for the ungracious mop of red hair. Draco focused to figure out what had been done to her by Crabbe. He cast Vulnera Sanetur spell to deal with the large gash at her forehead. Then he figured an Episkey spell would be best because he knew trying to get her to Pompfrey tonight might only get her in Carrow's clutches. He used some glamour charms to keep the look of some of the evidence of the fight. He did have a reputation to uphold. He was no Knight in shiny robes here to save Potter's future bride.

"Weasley, go to your common room and for the love of Merlin do not try anything stupid." He sneered at her as he handed her back her wand.

He did enough. He refused to help her off the floor instead he checked that the coast was clear. Just in case the Gryffindor elected to run her mouth, he cast a quick Confundo charm. Hopefully, all she would remember was being attacked by Crabbe and nothing to do with him. He watched her get the close enough to her common room that she'd be out of Carrow's clutches. Now Draco had to figure out how to shyly mention to Blaise that Weasley was mostly healed and to her room without implicating what he had done to help her or his knowledge of Blaise being concerned for Gryffindor. It was tough work being loyal in the Slytherin House. If anyone else needed saving tonight; they were on their own. No more saving foul mouth damsels in distress. Whoever though that many freckles were adorable was obviously delusional. It was official he needed his friends to have better taste in women if he was going to empathize with their pain of unrequited love and taxing worry. He heard the clock chime and realized he was late with his meeting with the Headmaster. He would be forced to explain himself. He pondered what would be more annoying to voice the reason why he was late or to fail the occlumency lesson today. Either way, the night was going to end with Snape knowing about this little unwanted misadventure.

* * *

**A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth~ Charles Darwin**

* * *

 

Author Note

GAW I absolutely failed attempting to give you all a heads up how late this update was going to be. To make it short and sweet, I am sorry I confused you with Chapter 4. It was not my intention. I just exceed at being an idiot more times that I care to admit.

Anyway….

Hope I did not disappoint with the way I handled this development in this story. There was a bit of debating if what I thought in my head made sense on paper... Greatly debated on posting this...

kitcat5510—I meant to update sooner but unfortunately, it did not happen.  hopefully I will get on a better schedule

 

xoxo bluesuitharold

 


	6. First Love, Last Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a heart breaks, sometimes it needs a little help mending itself back together.

**First Love, Last Romance**

_Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, Wales_

A silent prayer had been on her lips all night.  _ **Please**_ _come back_. Every single noise she heard had her eyes darting to the source of the sound. Unfortunately, they all been mostly various nocturnal woodland creatures. It was a miserable night as the hours were passing at an excruciatingly slow rate. With each long drawn out second, she wished that he would return. Thus far all she had were dashed hopes. She just wanted that big red headed oaf to grumble his way back to their camp. She figured he would be in a terrible huff—kicking dried leaves and stomping on twigs. It would probably enough of a racket that they would require stronger wards. She would be happy if he was in one piece when he would arrive back. She had desperately imagined his reappearance. There would be a rather poignant discussion of the dangers of abandoning the group when his sorry bum came back from his selfish little excursion. How he acted like he had been slighted by this whole endeavor was beyond her. This wasn't Harry's or her idea of fun. There were a lot of things she rather deal with than Snatchers hunting them and Death Eaters trying their damnedest to kill them. Her list of mostly involved reading books by a fire but a good few of them involved that ginger annoyance. His whole temper tantrum just another example of how Ronald Bilius Weasley drove her to the edge of insanity. But she wouldn't be mad at him for very long. He would come back with his sheepish smile complaining "Bloody Hell 'Mione". That smile combined with his amiable nature would eventually wear her down. All too soon her frustration at him would wane away. She regretted the day she feel for those blue eyes. Why did her Achilles heel have to be a man with beautiful light eyes? Unfortunately, reality didn't seem to care for her fantasies over the youngest male Weasley.

As time continued to march onward, she tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. It was becoming harder to ignore it with each sharp inhale. Ron would not forsake them now? They were a team. Ever since those two boys rescued her from her pitiful isolation during their first year in Hogwarts, they had been the Golden Trio. Somehow, as long as they worked together, they had always managed to survive whatever those bigots had thrown at them. They were better together. They needed each other. He had become a vital part of her life. She wanted him to be here with them.

It wasn't like Hermione didn't understand why Ron upset. She understood Ron's frustration. Yes, they been on the run for too long with not much to show for it other than the locket. Over the last few weeks Ron had become more distant and withdrawn. As the autumn wind started to bite and last holdouts of summer withered away, Ron had clung to that blasted radio like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. She glared at her beaded handbag. If she had known what trouble packing that damn object would bring, then she would have left it at the Burrow. Why hadn't she thought to smash it into hundreds of little pieces? That would teach the cursive thing to ruin a six year friendship! Ron had spent hours clinging to every word and every name. It was obvious that he had made himself crazy with fear. Hermione had been worried about him. She hated that she did not know what to do. He had completely rebuffed her earlier attempts to comfort him. She never been well versed in these sort of things. Researching a complex problem or brewing a complicated potion was simple compared to navigating a relationship.

It was understandable that he was concerned about his family. They were all worried about their friends and family. They all knew how bad it all was in the Wizarding World. It didn't help Hogwarts and the Ministry were taken over by Voldemort's henchmen. No one had forgotten the level of danger surrounding all of them. He was afraid for his entire family. She understood Ron felt guilty he never realized something was wrong with Ginny during their second year. But his reaction today was outrageous. Asking her to choose between him and Harry; it hadn't been fair. She wanted to pick his side until he went completely mad and irrational. This wasn't a tale where boy and girl run away together to live happily ever after. They were in the middle of a war. What could he be thinking? Their lives had never been much of fairy tale. By the way he was making her feel, Ron was no Prince Charming.

His departure had caused the most acute pain for both Harry and herself. Unfortunately, it had hit her harder than she cared to admit. It felt akin to someone forcing her off a high ledge to crash down to countless broken pieces. It hurt for so many reasons. The hardest pain came from the fact she never believed Ron would abandon them. She had depended on him. Especially, when it felt like all she had right now were Harry and Ron. They both had promised to help Harry. They would destroy every single Horcrux, eventually. Not all problems solved themselves in a few weeks. God, how could he be so impatient! They were trying. They were trying so hard. Now, it was going to even harder because Ron abandoned them. Ron only had until dawn to not break his promise and return… This opportunity to come back was quickly vanishing. Time was cruel. It didn't feel like the moments were crawling anymore. Dawn was approaching too quickly now. During a point of desperation, she had sworn if he just come back she would play 100 blasted games of wizarding chess with him. Heaven help her, she would try to play without complaining.

However, some prayers go unanswered.

Hermione had numbly gone through the motions as they broke up their camp. She just didn't want to believe that he didn't come back. It wouldn't be safe to stay much longer. She had to let go of her ludicrous fantasy that he would return. Ron had left her disappointed yet again. Harry had tried to give her a reassuring glance. She knew they couldn't stall anymore; it was time. There wasn't much comfort to be found before the dishearten duo apparated to their next destination. Hermione felt cut by the biting winds and cold betrayal. She wish Harry didn't realize how much she had been crying. She had spent so much of the night with her face streaked with tears. Her breath was tight in her chest from her sobs. She felt miserable. The misery would only get worse. With a flash all hope of seeing him was ripped to shreds. When the weight of Ron's brash decision crashed down as the landed in their next location, Hermione heart's shattered. The man she loved had abandoned her with full knowledge that he might never see her again. It cut her to her soul. She detested her behavior. She felt so pathetic that she was falling apart over a boy who didn't even care enough to stay. Unfortunately, she knew the pain would only get worse when it was her turn to wear the Regulus Black's cursed locket. Hermione felt the heavy cursed chain in her hands as Harry gave it to her. She hope she had more strength to handle this. Harry had worn it longer than his share already. As the locket hit her chest, it was as if she had thrown a heavy anchor tethering her heart to despair. The longer she wore the locket the more poignant his loss became. She longed to silence the dark whispers that noisily hummed at the back of her mind. They fueled her anguish.

Ron was an insensitive fool. He was pushed over the edge from obsessing over a radio. But, all the Weasley were wizards and witches and had the means of protecting themselves. His family would be waiting for him when this was over. Ron's family were purebloods. At the end of the day, if the war was lost his family still had a chance to survive. Blood traitors were the lesser evil than  _her kind_ according to the hypocritical psychopath. To give her parents the chance to survive this war, she had already lost them. This fact ate at her constantly. Every memory, every moment was forgotten by her parents. She had lost their unconditional love. Hermione would go through that pain over and over again if it meant they remained safe and out of Voldemort's grasp. They were defenseless to the absolute destruction from the Death Eater's arsenal of dark arts magic. For months she had frequent nightmares that, even with all that she did, someone would find them in Australia and she couldn't protect them. There were people who wanted to end their life all because they had the misfortune of having a filthy abomination—a muggle born witch.

The locket had no qualms of rubbing the salt into her emotional injury. Reminding her how unrequited her love was for Ron Weasley. If he had love her, then he would have remained. If she was worth it, then he would have never picked Lavender last year. If he believed in their cause, then he would be fighting for them. The helplessness and the heartbreak were radiating out from the Horocrux. Each negative thought was taking root in her soul and tearing her apart. She was a capable and strong woman. She should not feel this way. It wasn't reasonable; but it was pointless. The cursed item knew what she desired. She had longed for his reassuring hand when things were tough. She had pined for him to hold her when she woke from a nightmare of losing her parents. She had yearned for years that he would reciprocate her feelings she felt for him. Why did they waiver from strictly platonic after puberty if he would never care for her that way? Why did she have to hurt like this? She would have gladly taken romantic rejection over and over again than this. Ron leaving was a repudiation of their entire friendship. It was more arduous to bear. One of her best friend had completely abandon them with no hope or way to possibly ever see each other again. What could she do? Tears streamed down her face soaked her pillow as she violently shock. This war had taken her childhood, her parents, her friends, her education, and her liberties. Hadn't it taken enough? Couldn't it left her hope alone? She curled in the fetal position. She longed for someone to hold her and ease this pain. She knew it was impossible dream. So instead, she prayed for few hours of sleep to keep her going in this war.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding, Scotland_

Draco had just finished with yet another lecture with Pomfrey. He didn't know how much longer he could stomach. Being forced to answer questions on his daily habits with the woman had surpassed irksome. How many ways did he have to answer her question on whether he used the elixir or if he had attempted to defile one of her innocent charges? What part of one mate did she not understand? He was a Veela not some sex maniac. There were few times he wanted to comment she should have been worried about the corruption of innocents a few years ago. Alas, he knew better than to mention is previous extracurricular activities. Giving the nurse a heart attack would not go very well for anyone.

He was walking back to his room when he felt the wind being knocked out of him. One hand clutched his chest while the other supported his weight on the stone wall. The pain confused him. This feeling was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. There was nothing physically wrong with him. Pomfrey had poked and prodded him enough during his appointment to give him a clean bill of health. There were no injuries to him and no reason for him to feel this ache. He was almost back to the common room. It would be a waste of time to turn back now. If he went back the hospital ward, he probably combust from sheer annoyance trying to explain to her this terrible emotional gnawing feeling. He was willing to bet a portion of his inheritance that she would not be able to help him anyway. He was getting a little tired of all the changes his body was undergoing from his Veela inheritance. He added another reason to the ever expanding list to curse his lineage.

While he was a little unsure on his feet, he kept on heading back to Slytherin quarters. A few times he had to lean against the wall for support when another barrage of emotions sliced through his soul. He tried to steel himself as he whispered the Slytherin's password. He hoped no one would bother him. Zabini and Nott were in a casual discussion on the best seats near the fireplace when he arrived. He attempted to slyly get by unnoticed by the pair; however, they both gave him a questioning look. It would seem he hadn't done a good enough job masking the pain. They both were aware of his frequent visits to the hospital ward. He had attempted to relate it back to his poor health from the supposed summer illness when they had asked earlier. Draco knew they didn't believe the excuse. They knew that he knew it. Fortunately, under the unwritten Slytherin code, they would not pry. Well, at least not now and probably not ever in the common room. Draco nodded at his friends and they understood to leave him alone—at least for tonight.

The head boy figured the best thing he could do would just sleep the episode off. He glared up at his ceiling trying to relax and ignore the ache. Unfortunately, the misery did not wane. He felt a whole range of negative emotions: anxiety, desperation, anger, and longing. It made a terrible combination of melancholy. It was downright nauseating. He shouldn't feel this way. Why was he feeling this way? He tossed and turned attempting to think of anything to distract himself. Sometime during the night he had begun to clutch one of pillows to his chest and forcefully securitize the wall. He needed something; he needed to stop something. However, he had no idea why he was experiencing this agony. It was the most intense emotional pain he had ever felt. The waves of desperation rolled over him in bouts. He heard himself snarl in agitation. Merlin, he was alone yet still empathizing with someone for hours. He never before had felt another's emotion affect his own state so much. How was this possible? Draco refused to care how much trouble he would be with the professors for being absent for the day. He would not go. Snape would have to drag him out his room if his attendance was needed. When the sun began to rise the experience only got worse. He didn't know how anyone person could feel so many emotions at one single moment of time. Draco had to do something to stop this. He started to pace in frustration. As went over it all in his sleep deprived mind, the pieces started to fall into place. Dear Sweet Salazar, was he feeling his mate?

Draco froze. He took a prolong inhale allowing the thought to sink in. Was she out there somewhere and in pain? Draco bolted to his trunk. He quickly unlocked it and started his search through the plethora of books and overpriced knickknacks. There had to be an answer in his collection. Which one of these tomes did he read it in? Was it a one written by Bagshot? Draco quickly dismissed that notion as he carelessly tossed it aside. He searched through his collection for the burgundy leather bound tome by Delacour. He started scanning trying to recall which chapter it was located in. He knew it wasn't in the Slavic mythology section or the transformation section. He was about a third way through the book when he spotted it. Originally, He had been annoyed about when he first read it because the chapter had focused mostly on the female nature of a Veela.

_The stronger the Veela heritage is in a witch the stronger the connection between unmated pair bonds. The range of a half-Veela's ability to feel the emotion of their mate is unknown. However, this ability can occur without mates being physically present in one another's company and before consummation of the bonding process. Some full blooded Veela claim that if the emotions—either negative or positive-are strong enough the Veela will share the mate emotional state no matter the distance. There has been no study to verify this theory. However, given Healer Mitev failed experiment in 1764 on the connection between Veela pairs, such a study would be ill advised for safety of the Veela, the mate, and any Healer researcher. Some researchers suppose that this emphatic bond is necessary in order to build trust in order to ease the mate into completing the bonding ritual within the limited required time._

Well, this had become a most peculiar and momentous moment. She existed. This whole thing was no longer merely theoretical. Draco Malfoy had a mate. He could feel her and knew she was alive. He, unfortunately, had absolutely no idea who she was. He was completely ignorant of her name, her age, her looks, and her heritage. However, in a way he knew her. Draco had felt her pain and her misery. He was baffled on what or who caused this ache in her. He had felt many pains in his life—mostly from the end of a wand. This was unlike any spell. It tore at his heart in the most severe way. Her pain was anguish to his soul. He huffed in frustration as the Veela whimpered to do something—anything—to take the pain away from her.

Was there anything he could do to lessen her pain? Veela would not have this as power if he couldn't do something about it. Draco refused to believe that Veela evolution allowed for abilities that only caused suffering to itself. No species should be that masochist and make in to the modern era. There had to be something he could do. He despised the fact the majority of the books dealt on the Veela legal history within the Wizarding World instead of actual helpful information. He grabbed his fire whiskey. Draco quickly cast an incantation to chill the bottle and took a shot straight. The smooth warmth did nothing to relieve the pain. He sighed and placed the bottle on the dresser. There wasn't going to be any comfort coming from a bottle today.

Instead, he slowly walked back to his bed. He climbed on top of his comforter where he sat resting his head against the wooden headboard. He let out exhausted sigh and closed his eyes. He let the silence overtake him. Soon all he could hear was the sound of his breathing and pounding of his heart. He continue to focus on just that until he could feel another heartbeat. It was so faint. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. However, that beat was like a siren's call to him. He felt the urge to go deeper to focus more. Draco continued to deeply exhale and inhale. He trusted in his Veela ability to guide him. Soon he felt like he was next to her. Well, " _her_ " was more like a warm bright opalescent figure in his mind. He knew that if he opened his eyes he would be alone in the head boy room in Hogwarts. He just didn't care and won't dare open his eyes now. He knew this aura or something was the source of the heartbeat and the anguish. Draco felt he had honed in on her soul. He would remind himself to hate himself for thinking the thought later. In the darkness this beauty was curled in up in the fetal position. In a way she seemed so small and delicate; he knew she had to be extremely strong to deal with whatever had caused this pain. Draco felt the overwhelming need to cradle her to his chest. He eased her into his arms. She was weightless in his arms, but he felt her warmth. It was enough for him to let out a content moan. He rocked her ever so gently. He wished he could truly be there where she was. Wherever it was. He wanted to see her face as he wiped the tears from her cheek. What shade would her iris be? How rosy would those cheeks be? What would it be like to run his hands through her hair? Would it be short or long? Did she have smooth locks like his or demure waves or wanton curls? While he was curious; he also felt it didn't matter. He was a Veela she would be beautiful to him. Slowly her pain subsided. Draco wished he could bask in warmth and content feeling that surrounded him but exhaustion was overshadowing his wants. Finally, Draco succumbed to sleep cradling one of his emerald green pillow to his chest. To the dreaming young man, that pillow was the most precious thing in his life.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt the most well rested he had since before his birthday. He didn't even have his usual inane dreams surrounding some historic Malfoy. He still had a pillow tightly clutched to his chest. The ache was gone. However, he couldn't feel her emotions any more. Everything was pretty normal. Draco was thankful her pain had subsided; but he missed feeling the connection between the two of them. He had hoped to still feel her when he woke. To have felt the connection and then for it to be severed was hard to swallow. The cold dungeon room appeared colder. The silence of his room seemed more deafening. Overall, his mood was a little morose and lonely from the Veela's reaction of being teased with his mate. He looked over at his clock to see what time it was; however he found a small note with his godfather's scrawl on it.

_Your explanation is expected._

Draco grabbed the note and glanced at the time to determine how much trouble he would be in with his Professors. He had missed very single one of his classes for the day. Most students would be begin making their way down to Great Hall for dinner fairly soon. It was that moment his stomach rudely interjected to remind him that it had almost been 24 hours since he had anything to eat. Draco wasn't dreading tonight meeting with the Headmaster. He very much doubted he be in that much trouble for his skipping giving the headway he made connecting with his mate. Even if he was in trouble, there was nothing any Carrow could do to make him regret why he missed all his classes today.

* * *

**Men always want to be a woman's first love—women like to be a man's last romance.~ Oscar Wilde**

* * *

 

Author Note

Your eyes do not trick you. Part of this chapter was written in Hermione’s perspective. This is not a drill! The elusive Hermione has entered into the story. :D

The story will still mostly be in Draco’s perspective, but I felt you needed to see why he was feeling the pain. (Even though all of you could gather that it was Ron that caused the pain)

Hope this development still entertains.

I cherish all 68 Kudos and the 10 bookmarks.

HushHushDoll—I like Veela fanfics a lot too. Thank you for the compliment; it really means a lot! Hopefully, it wasn’t too long of a wait!

xoxo 

bluesuitharold 


	7. Veil & Mask

**Veil & Mask **

"BOLLOCKS!"

Draco pounded his fist against his desk. The force knocked over his ink well onto his scroll. He quickly spelled the mess away before it stained the wood desk or got all over his uniform. While he was a little ruffled and his hair a little unkempt, there wasn't a single stain on him. Unfortunately, the scroll did not share the same fate. It was completely saturated black. It was an annoying waste; but, it was the risk with owning a refilling ink well. With a flick of his wrist the scroll was no more. The scroll should have been a completed assignment. Of course, he had avoided even starting the damn thing. Draco had much more important things to occupy his time. In his defense, no one was taking this semester seriously. Honestly, this was a class none of them wanted to even take. He never imagined he would be forced to take the damn class during his seventh year. Sometimes he really wanted to write you know who a very descriptive note on how much he appreciated wasting his time with the class. He failed to see why he should be required to write yet another Dark Lord propaganda paper. There were very few students at Hogwarts openly supporting Voldemort's desired reign of terror. No one wanted to do the original essay. A few of the students wrote why he would fail. To say the least, that had not gone over well with Professor Carrow. Her mood was even more repulsive than usual. The punishment she devised was for the entire class to write an essay on how the Dark Lord should implement domination in France. Was she asking for papers for commandeering the wine and cheese industry to make the French submit? He was sure that at least one of his peer would write that. Personally, his money was on Finnigan. It seemed like the kind of prank he would pull. This would probably lead his classmates being forced to write about taking over the entire continent one nation at a time. His professor really didn't understand the purpose of Muggle Studies. It was to avoid and remain undetected not to dominate them. He refused to write another paper on the same topic. He knew she didn't even read all of them. It was mostly assigned to make the goody goods uncomfortable. Draco found his previous assignment. With a new scroll he magically copied the words to the new one with the addition to magically interchanging the names of the countries to reflex the new assignment. He just didn't care anymore.

He was in a sour mood. The cause wasn't from inane assignments. Nor did the essay directly cause the earlier outburst. He was angry at himself. Instead of doing his homework, he spent the majority of his time trying to reconnect with his mate. When it had originally happen, he had believed something was going his way. For the first time he thought he had a chance. It would finally be easy to find her, wooher, and bond with her. He might even pull it off before Christmas. When he been able use a Veela ability so naturally the first time, he had assumed that reestablishing the connection would be just as simple. It had seemed so intuitive to him previously. Draco had even gloated when he told what had happened with Snape. The explanation got him out of detention. He was even rewarded for his success. The headmaster dropped one his weekly lessons. It had been meant so Draco could focus on strengthening this ability. The remaining once of week lesson had morphed to him controlling unleashing and restraining the Veela side of him. Those lessons weren't going as well. He had tried not to laugh too hard when he nearly singed Snape cloak with a fireball he hadn't expected to make. The Headmaster had not been amused at him at all. It was a mistake that only happened once. After that incident Snape elected to use much stronger wards.

It seemed so naïve to him now that Draco had made great plans of spending his free evenings basking in content happiness from holding her. It seemed to be an impossible dream given it was a month later and Draco had nothing to show for it. Well nothing other than his terrible mood. He was beyond frustrated. He lost count how many times he had tried to reconnect with his elusive mate. Most times he just ended up feeling like a ridiculous fool. All the attempts had been futile. His first approach started with various breathing exercises. Before long it got terribly embarrassing. There really weren't that many ways to inhale and exhale. That approach had left him in a huff. His next idea centered on changing the position of his body. Most all his attempts had been in the confines of his bedroom away from prying eyes. Still nothing seemed to work as he made himself feel less like a man and more like a pretzel. So he changed his tactic to be a tad bolder. On one early Saturday morning, when no one in their right mind would be up; he tried to mediate on the field. It was the most annoying 20 minutes of his life. He willingly acted like a bloody muggle hippie from a Muggle Studies text. What good did that do him? Scotland in November isn't very kind. Draco ended up ungodly cold with a sore back and bum. The level of self-hatred rose to a few degrees to say the least. The next experiment had been a little more promising. It revolved around recreating the initial environment as much as possible. Well, what was more promising about those attempts was the fact they involved alcohol. On a particularly self-loathing day, Draco finished the remaining fire whiskey in between attempting to link with her again. It was apparent that intoxication and meditation did not work. To make it matters worse he had selected the worse day to drown himself in the bottle. Draco swore he would never drink on a Sunday night again. That Monday to put it lightly had been hell. He gotten paired with Longbottom in class. They got into a spat and inanimate objects were broken. Of course, McGonagall gave him detention for three nights. The detention hadn't been fun. Both Professor Carrows still elected to use him as target practice. They were too afraid to actually make someone use an unforgiveable on him. In hindsight, he might have preferred it. One of Goyle's spell had backfired and he had a cotton candy pink hair for about 24 hours. Snape had no sympathy. Having pastel pink hair did not qualify as an excused absence. Walking in to Great Hall the next morning Longbottom had almost choked on his breakfast laughing so much. However, his housemates saw his expression and new better than to even think a single word about it.

It had been a terrible month. A very disappointing month. He was cranky. In his defense it was completely understandable. In his attempts with reconnecting with her the best he could do was a massive wall. It didn't happen that often either. Oh, how he hated that wall. It didn't matter how beautiful this stone mastery was. The foreboding stone seemed to shallow up his hope to find her. He couldn't seem to overcome it. His temper tantrum had erupted from finding that wall again. It wasn't fair that the only time it had worked she had been miserable. The idea that was his only way to feel her was if she was emotionally tortured again made his stomach queasy. This week Draco had been forced to get up earlier to try both morning and night. The lack of sleep only helped fuel his rage. It didn't help that he now had to suffer through a full day of classes and double patrol duty before he would be able to attempt searching for her again. He had to remind himself it could be worse. He could still have princess pink hair.

* * *

 

Draco swore if he saw a single student tonight there would be hell to pay. They could have detention with Carrow and their Unforgivable happy twichy wands for all he cared. He had missed the majority of dinner. He had enough time to steal a single bread roll before his presence was required elsewhere. Pomfrey demanded he come in since his previous detention had conflicted with his usual time. Draco would barely have enough time to get back to the dungeons to put away his supplies before he be forced to march the halls on patrol. He was exhausted, hungry, and frustrated. Why had he wanted to be Head Boy again? To make his father proud? Had it even matter? No. He really wished he could wallow in self-hatred that evening. Of course, his plans were abruptly changed when Draco crossed paths with Theodore Nott.

"Draco, good thing I found you. I'm really in a bind. Can I trade you patrol duties for tonight for Tuesday night?" Theo had a completely unreadable expression on his face.

"You want to voluntarily take an extra weekend patrol?" Draco was very surprised. Weekend patrols were the bane of most prefects' and heads' existence. People weren't very successful with trading them.

"If you don't decide soon you will be late." Theo look expectantly at all of Draco's books with a half-smile on his lips.

"Go, before someone deducts house points." Draco capitulated. He felt a weight lifted off his back. It was nice. Almost too nice. Something was up. He would owe Nott because of this arrangement helped Draco out more than Theo. Draco wasn't sure if he liked this deal.

"Ta!" The lanky prefect was already making his way to the Great Hall for patrol. Draco would be unable to change his mind now.

Draco shook his head in disbelief. He also let out a huge sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do that night was go on patrol with some prefect. Draco quickly said the password and entered into the common room. A lot of his peers where talking and carrying on in the common room. However, most of them where the younger years. He could probably get to his room without anyone bothering him. The evening was definitely improving. As he rounded the corner to where his room was he saw Blaise Zabini causally leaning against his door spinning his wand around the fingers of his wand hand. Things were starting to fit together. The question that remained was what was the reason for the plotting? What did Zabini want?

"Drake, I'm so glad I could catch you. How long before you have to go on patrol tonight?" Blaise grinned from the door. Blaise had effectively blocked any way of escape for Draco.

"Actually, I no--" The blonde was abruptly interrupted by his good friend.

"Fantastic. How about a little chat, mate?" Blaise took two glasses out of his pocket used a spell to get them back to their correct size.

Draco knew he better not argue with Blaise. He gave a half-hearted chuckle. This wasn't what he had planned. He wanted to be mad at Blaise, but he couldn't. He whispered his password and allowed Blaise to walk in. Blaise began transfiguring items to make two lounge chair and started running through an arsenal of different spells to hinder being overheard. Paranoia was honestly a main characteristic of the Slytherin house. They all had learned at a young age that they never could be too careful. A private conversation between two friends can be more dangerous weapon against a person than a mere spell. Draco busied himself with putting away his books and taking off his robe and tie. There was no telling how long a night it would be. Blaise put a bottle of some muggle whiskey between the two empty glasses. Each with an impressive rock of ice in it. Draco looked questionably at the bottle with a raised eyebrow.

"Mummy dearest 's newest mark bought it for me. He happens to be a connoisseur for very expensive bourbons. This one thinks my loyalty can be bought still. He is a little naive. He won't last very long. But, it is his gallons to waste. I'll admit this isn't that bad for a Muggle whiskey, but with its price it should be." Blaise smiled.

"Hmmm." Was Draco only response as he read the label as he sat down in the chair across from Blaise.

"Do you agree?" Blaise smirked at his good friend as he lounged very relaxed in the chair.

It would appear they would be playing a game of their own devise. They would ask yes or no questions to one another. While they could answer verbally anyway they want or not at all, the real conversation was answered with dance of the glass. A snip meant yes. Abstaining from the drink meant no. Swirling the drink in the glass meant the wizard couldn't answer or didn't know how to answer. They originally developed the game with Bertie Bott's Beans. It hadn't been as sophisticated since it was mere yes no game. One can only eat or not eat the candy. Their friendly pastime had greatly improved with the addition of fire whiskey, in Draco's humble opinion. It was an elaborate dance, but it was their little way of keeping secrets in a world that would use them dangerously. While it wasn't what Draco had planned for his evening, he was thankful to be able to talk with Blaise. Draco open the bottle and poured the Muggle liquor. He took a sip of the amber liquid. It was smooth. He would always prefer wizarding fire whiskey but it wasn't a terrible drink. Draco countered with the same question and Blaise took the bottle followed suit. The smirk was long gone. 

"Are you doing alright?" Blaise was usually very direct when it came to his questions.

Draco knew better to lie by taking a sip, so he swirled the beverage in his hand before putting it back down on the table.

"Did it cost you a lot to get Nott to trade patrols?" Draco figured he should allow Blaise to know he knew Blaise had set this up. It was clever. He should have realized Blaise would have forced him to talk privately sooner rather than later.

"Just some insight on impressing Parkinson during the Holidays. It was practically child's play." The drink s firmly on the table. Blaise appeared very bored with the question. Blaise was very good at figuring what to say or buy someone to parlay the most favor. It had been one of the first lessons his mother had taught him.

Draco responded with a laugh. He already knew Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson were interested in one another. Theo had always been a little bit shy around Pansy. It was understandable. For the longest time Pansy had been very boisterous about her dreams to be the next Lady Malfoy. Draco and her had been off and on again from the Yule Ball until beginning of first term of their sixth year. He had enjoyed her fawning over him. It had been very easy between the two of them. She accepted his fickle moods. When he wanted to pursue someone else and break up with her, she didn't create a huge fuss about it or lecture him when they got back together. Draco, however, had quickly lost his affection for her last year. He had grown tired of her nagging him to regain stature within the high ranking pureblood circle. She hadn't known of the dangerous mission Voldemort had punished him with. She was blinded by her own want of having power and esteem to realize what Draco needed during that year. Her behavior which he had was once relished in seemed too calculating after that. She had reserved hope that they would get back together until the incident in the common room. Draco had already decided they won't get back together long before finding out he would have a mate. Luckily, after Theo carried her to the infirmary she had started to develop a little bit of a crush for the quiet Slytherin. Draco was sure Pansy would find it a better match for her and what she desired. Theodore's father was actually gaining esteem in Death Eaters ranks. However, the entire Malfoy family been steadily falling from grace since the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. Which is why Voldemort was putting a tighter and tighter leash on every Malfoy.

"While I very much enjoy being neutral in this whole endeavor; it is one of the many joys of having dual citizenship. I can't help to feel you are on another suicide mission. Is my gut right, do you have another impossible mission?" Blaise he had started jovial enough; however, by the time he asked his question his tone was completely serious.

Draco knew that the question was referring to Voldemort. The truth was he was on a mission. Yes, Voldemort had given him an assignment. He had didn't care about being the junior brute squad leader. All he really did was tell Snape what he knew, Snape would tell Voldemort, and Snape would inform him what Voldemort had said to tell the children of Death Eaters. It was a very annoying cycle and an even dumber assignment. The mission to find his mate was important. It was eating up his time and was what was bothering him. Draco took a sip of his drink. Blaise shock his head. He was a little crestfallen.

"Do you have be so sullen, Zabini?" Draco asked as he put the drink back down on the small table between them.

"I'm not the one falling apart. Aren't you going nurse once a week?" Blaise chuckled first and then responded after he took a sip of his own drink.

"I'm fine, I am completely healthy." Draco tasted the bourbon once again as he was required to do. Draco wished Blaise would actually believe he was fine. This words hadn't been a lie; he was completely healthy for a Veela without a mate.

"Is this as dangerous as last time?" Blaise didn't even bother to let Draco ask his question.

Blaise knew how much an issue his last mission for Voldemort had been. Blaise had watched Draco wither away during their sixth year. Blaise had been so mad when Draco had paid Harper to take over his position on the team. That entire year he had become more and more withdrawn from everyone. Draco understood that he had spent the majority of this year looking just as sickly and exhausted. Nor, was Draco very social this year either. It was the intelligent thing to assume it was related. It might even be logical to argue it could possibly be worst this year. Honestly, Draco was lucky that the crazy maniac hadn't killed him from not personally finishing the mission to kill Dumbledore. It hadn't matter how hard he had slaved in the Room of the Requirements. It was still a failure. A failure his Aunt had personally punished him for in front of all the Death Eaters. She was a sadistic bitch. Blaise was poignantly asking if Draco would die if he failed this time. Draco grabbed the bottle refilled his glass. He brought the full glass to his lips and proceeded to shot all the liquid straight down. He savored the burn. He hadn't want to admit this to his closest friend. Especially, since he couldn't truly explain what was actually going on in his life. Finding his mate was more dangerous than last year. He could die for a plethora of reasons involving his Veela inheritance between now and his next birthday. He didn't want to see what reaction Blaise had to the news; so, he focused on his empty glass in his hand. It had a very elegant geometric design in the crystal. If he held it right he could catch the light from the lamp in the room. He was sure it was from some overpriced set from one of Blaise's mother many weddings. Maybe it was from the wedding with Blaise's fourth stepfather.

"Do you still want to ask more questions?" Out of the corner of his eye Draco waited for Blaise to move his glass. His dark hand grasped the etched crystal glass and swirled the liquid around.

"Do you at least have help this time?" After a few long moments of silence between the friends, Blaise questioned the blonde.

"You worry too much, Blaise. Don't you have something better to do on a Friday night than check up on me?" Draco refilled his glass and took another sip. He had wasted his question, but it was important to try to reassure Blaise. He had gone through all this trouble just for an opportunity to talk to Draco about this.

"What can be better than drinking muggle contraband in the Slytherin's Head Boy dormitory with my best mate? Annoying our peers and professors alike." While his tone was much more cheerful, Blaise's drink remained firmly on the table.

"I'd say a good shag." Draco smirked.

"That rich coming from you. You've been completely celibate. You have turned down every witch who has proposition you this year." Blaise laughed.

"There was no one I wanted." Draco answered honestly to his friend.

"How about Astoria? I figured she just your type- classic brunette. Not bad if you fancy that type." Blaise says as he refilled his glass.

"Are you kidding me? Daphne's little baby sister? Isn't she three years younger than us?" Draco didn't drink.

"You asked too many questions. I think she is a fifth year. Not that much younger. A few of the older chaps have attempted, but she turns them down. I think she is hopeful to catch your eye."

"What else is new? Any witch from a blasted sacred twenty eight family hopes to bed me." Draco had rolled his eyes greatly at the whole list concept. There were plenty of pureblood families not on the list including the pureblood wizard before him.

"Well consider the competition—Longbottom, Macmillian, Nott and Weasley. Nott might be your only competition on that narrow list. He has quiet mysterious type allure. The rest of them would have no idea what to do with a witch. Macmillian would bore a witch to sleep. Weasley is a blundering fool. We all know Longbottom can't handle his wand. I think you could still woo more ladies than the three of them even with that catastrophic colored hair you had. " Blaise almost snorted from laughter from the expression Draco gave him on that subject.

"Well, it hadn't been my best shade. I am not going to worry about Hogwarts competition." Draco drawled. If he was allowed he would have oblivated the entire school to never remember that incident.

"So whoever she isn't in Hogwarts then?" Blaise smiled. It appeared to amuse his friend that Draco would have to wait and work to bed what he assumed was his next conquest.

"Well, would I be spending a Friday off of patrols with you if she was?" Draco smirked over his glass as he finished his sip.

"You might think that. You never know she might be one who plays hard to get. Or do you know she fallen for your charms already? " He laughed at Draco.

Draco shook his head. Thus far, his mystery mate had played hard to get. He didn't even know her name and almost half his year to find her was up. He had no idea what her response would be to meeting him. He hoped that she would easily fall for him. Draco was a confident man. He knew he was very attractive. Draco knew how to please the women he pursued. However, he knew in certain circles his name was becoming greatly devalue no matter how much prestige it once had gathered. Depending on who she was, she might not want him at all. So, Draco only swirled the drink in his hand. The response got a raised eyebrow from Blaise.

"Draco Malfoy playing coy. I never thought I see the day. She must make you very nervous." It had meant to be a joke but Draco had answered it anyway by taking a drink. The Head Boy had never been more nervous about anything else in his life. Which surprised his friend even more.

"She must be one hell of a brunette to have already gotten to you." Blaise shook his head with a half-smile. "What makes you think she is a brunette?" Draco laughed.

"You wound me, Malfoy. I am your best mate. The only thing we talked more about than witches is quidditch. You don't have a very original fantasy. All it takes for you to been smitten is an English Rose beauty with brown eyes and brown hair who is your own personal temptress."

"There are harder to find than you think. You don't think an English Rose can be passionate?" He laughed at Blaise.

"There is nothing sexier than a witch who knows what she wants and takes it." Blaise answered while swirling the glass in his hand.

"Even if she is in love with someone else?" Draco stated before the guilt came crashing in. He shouldn't even begin to allude to Ginny.

"Even then." Blaise downed the rest of his drink.

There was a moment of silence. However, Blaise smiled and then resealed the bottle. The game was over. Blaise had gotten what he needed to hear. There was no point to delve deeper for either party. Draco quickly finished his own drink before Blaise spelled the ice cubes away.

"Whatever would the Headmaster think to learn that the dutiful Head Boy was up past his bed time drinking bourbon?" Blaise smiled as he stood up from the chair.

"My godfather won't be surprised; he might want a glass himself."

"Nepotism, I tell you! It is one of the world's worse plagues. The corruption is even here in Hogwarts!" Blaise jokingly acted aghast from it all. He walked towards the door.

"Well, how else do you explain Gryffindor winning the House Cup every year?" Draco joked right back.

"That is easy mate, your favorite thorn in your side."

"Potter." Draco sneered. Which was only meet with a scoff from his friend.

"You are ridiculous. Everyone knows it is Gryffindor's muggle born Princess, Granger. We might have a chance with her missing this year. Their collective intelligence has been severed in half. Get some sleep; see you tomorrow." Blaise said as he walked out the door.

"Night!" Draco called out before the door shut.

Draco quickly put his room back to order. It was true; life was much easier without the Golden Trio. When he saw how much time he had left before he would usually arrive back to patrol, Draco decided to get ready for bed and then try again to seek his mate out. He quickly took a shower and got changed into his black cotton sleeping trousers. He got comfortable under the covers and closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing. He had been more relaxed after talking to Blaise and the little bit of bourbon. Soon he found in the darkness the wall he hated so much. He tried to remain focus and not break concentration from being upset about it. In his mind he paced looking for something to let him through. He touched the wall. He wished he knew who she was. She was a mystery to him but was always on his mind. He wanted her to be thinking of him too. He wanted to dream of her instead of weird dreams he had when he slept. Why couldn't she just dream about him? Slowly he too drifted off to sleep; hope that she would dream of him fresh on his mind.

* * *

 

_It was storming. The rain was coming down with an unforgiving furry. The lightening would spark across the sky, lighting up the world for a mere few seconds at a time. As each bolt danced across the sky, Hermione knew that they were getting closer. The thunder boomed and her heart raced. She had to move faster. Her wand was broken and lost forever. She was defenseless. She tried not to focus on the feeling of helplessness. She had to keep running. The low branches were catching her in the dark as she stumbled blindly away. There were too many cuts. While she was numb to the pain now; it would soon hit hard. It might be only a matter of time until they will find her._

_"We are coming mudblood!"Someone loudly hissed._

_She kept running. The mud trying to swallow her feet and slow her escape._

_"You thought you could save your filthy little muggle parents?" Another voice crackled._

_She willed herself not to look at the direction of the voice. She had to keep moving._

_"They begged for it to end. But we took our time, mudblood."_

_There was another bolt of lightning following the jeer. She thought she saw a shadowy Death Eater figure gain on her. She had to move faster._

_"Your Daddy begged us to let your Mummy go. He didn't want us not to hurt her." It was followed with a sinister laugh._

_She stumbled and fell into the hot sticky mud._

_"One quick imperio and he gutted the bitch himself."_

_She froze for a second. Hermione wanted to vomit. She forced herself to go forward. There had to away out of this. First she crawled onward. Soon she was back on her feet bolting as fast as she could. She thought she found a clearing or a road. However, the lightening illuminated the cliff before her. She was trapped. They were hunting her and she had no place to go. She felt like an animal waiting for the slaughter. She started to look around for a rock or branch. Lord, there had to be something! Was there anything she could use to protect herself with? She felt two strong hands grip her shoulders and spin her around. She was about to scream when his hand cover her mouth. Another flash and she saw a hooded man looking down at her. He was in all black but there was no Death Eater mask. She sighed with relief. He wasn't one of them. His face was blocked from his hood. All she could see was chiseled jaw, porcelain skin, lips, and a drenched black robe. He let her go. Another flash showed he had his hand outstretched waiting for her to grab. Then she saw the Death Easter and their masks emerging from the forest line. She grabbed his hand. He pulled her into him and wrapped his other arm around her tight. Before the next flash, they apparated away._

_Her head was cradled against his chest. He was much taller than she was. She let go of his hand went to break away from him. Gone was the nightmare forest. Instead they stood by an ornate mantle next to burning fire. The flames send a glow around the room. Her savior had a half-smile gracing his lips._

_"Thank you. You saved my life." Hermione tried to find her voice. It didn't come out as confident as it should. She was still shaking._

_His only response was to caress her cheek with his right hand. When Hermione jumped from the touch, the man lips fell to slight frown._

_"Who are you?" She whispered. She tried to see under the hood. She hoped he would answer her. However, once again he didn't respond with words._

_His hands softly grabbed her hand in his. She was about to pull away again when he slowly moved it closer towards his face. He firmly placed her hand on edge of his hood. Once he felt her grasp the hood, his fingertips trailed down her arm with a feather light touch. She slightly shivered from the touch. He remained unmoving then with both hands at his side. He was waiting. The choice was her to find out it seemed. Would she adventure on to see who was the man behind the hood? Curiosity got the better of her. She got on her tip toes. She started to lose her footing. His hands quickly caught her waist as she her left hand landed on his strong shoulder. He didn't let go. They were too close now; but she didn't want to move away. She held her breath in anticipation and pushed the hood back. She looked up at him. Her startled eyes saw a very familiar face; however, it wasn't the person she had hoped to see masked under the robe. Instead of red hair, bright blue eyes, and boyish grin she found blonde locks, stormy grey, and his classic smirk. It meant only one person-Draco Malfoy._

Hermione Granger gasped for air as she woke up. She was covered in sweat. That did not just happened. She ran her hand through her wild hair and attempted to calm herself. The start of that dream was very familiar. It had been her normal reoccurring nightmare. The one she been praying for weeks would stop plaguing her. However, when she got to the edge of the cliff, usually a spell sends her backwards and she falls off. She always woke up before she would fall to her death. There had never been the roguish mystery man saving her. There wasn't supposed to be an embrace by firelight. Alright, she had wished many times for Ron or someone would save her and hold her. Ron never came, not in her dreams and not in reality. He had been gone for almost a month. She was learning to stomach it. She didn't cry anymore. She been trying to push through it. She wanted to be stronger about it.

"'Mione… you alright? Nightmare?" Harry voice sounded completely exhausted from the other side of the tent.

"You can say that." She whispered to herself. "Sorry, did I wake you?" Hermione spoke a little louder so Harry could hear.

"…need…talk about it?" It was mumbled response from her longtime best friend. She was pretty sure he was talking into his pillow.

"No!" Realizing she was too loud she lowered her voice, "I mean no. I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Harry."

She heard a grumble of acceptance. There was no way in hell she wanted to talk the fact she had dreamt of Draco Malfoy. The thought of trying to explain that to Harry was even more ridiculous. She debated trying to go hack to sleep. She was partially afraid to close her eyes and see his grey eyes again. Who was she kidding? She was wide awake now. There were too many thoughts running rampant in her mind. What was wrong with her? The last time she had a dream with him in it she was punching him in nose. Honestly, the dream might have been in her third year! Hermione Granger did not have dreams of Draco fucking Malfoy. Especially not dreams where there were he caressed her, and she… Oh God, no, no, no. That sounded horrible! That was it; caress was a forbidden word. Forbidden word and person were not allowed to be in her dreams or vocabulary. What in the world was wrong with her subconscious! When had she ever though he was attractive? The second he opened his mouth killed that notion long ago. It must be the stress. Could that be the explanation? Hermione Granger was stumped. Then again how could she know the real cause? Dreams are extremely complicated things. She tried to reassure herself it didn't matter. That was a fluke. It was just a very strange nightmare. It wasn't like it would ever happen again. Right?

* * *

 

 

**Virtue has a veil, vice a mask—Victor Hugo**

* * *

 

Author Note

I debated greatly whether to hold Hermione's dream section until next time... There won't always be a Hermione section …so… I wanted to spread them more out. It really only made sense here. I didn't think you all would mind a longer chapter. Plus, it seemed a little mean to make you all wait for it since I knew that was going to be next. I am not sure when the next update will be.

tardyse—Thank you.  Hopefully, this wasn’t too long before an update

vjc--: D I am glad you are liking it thus far.  Hopefully, this didn’t disappoint. 

Ceren—It is ok; I know this story is very slow to develop.  It is one of this story shortcomings with the idea I came up with and my writing style.  Thank you for continuing on reading even though it was too slow.  It means a lot.   I cant promise if it be enough interaction as soon as you want.:(

tbeth—I am glad you are still enjoying it! It is a very slow burn… sometimes too slow…  But slow burns stories can be fun when done right.  I am trying to do it well.  I am not sure how successful it is.  I think certain people almost gave up hope of seeing Hermione before March. :/

 xoxo

bluesuitharold


	8. Nightmare Of My Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes back to Malfoy Manor during the Winter Holidays.

**Nightmare of My Choice**

The winter holidays were finally upon them. Hogwarts was blanketed by glistening snow. It added to the magical quality of the impressive castle. It was majestic as the icicles caught the sunlight beautifully on the various towers and ledges. Traditionally, this was one of the best times of the year. It was the time when all classes were done, assignments were turned in, and tests were completed. Students had nothing to worry about than having holiday cheer with their family, while the professors would have a few good nights of grading to do. Draco woke with a smirk on his face nestled warmly in his emerald green bed linens. He felt pretty smug at the moment. This was the fifth morning he had been successful in connecting with her. Well, connecting might be a tad of a stretch. He faintly felt his mate, but it was something. It was nothing close to the magnitude of what he felt in October. It was much better than nothing. He had decided, whoever she was, she was not a morning person. Thus far the only time he had been able to feel anything from her is on rare mornings when she had woken up very agitated. The first time it had happened was after the night drinking with Blaise. He wasn't sure what had happened to his mate to make her distressed. He had learned that his attempts to sooth her emotions were rebuffed. Most days he was blocked from her or the connection too weak to maintain. It was an annoying reality to accept. Last night Draco had been able to focus and find that wall. While he hated that she was upset at something or someone, he was too selfish not to enjoy his personal victory. So, he just smirked and basked in his accomplishment. Mornings like these made the fact that he been having the same ridiculous dreams for months a tad more bearable. He much rather get to dream about his own mate than dream about a dead ancestor.

Draco wished he could remain in his warm bed a little longer; however, he had too much to do. Draco got dressed in his warmest black causal clothes to travel back home. A turtleneck, blazer, and trouser were casual for him. He tried to focus on practicing his wandless magic to pack up his belongings. His recent mastery of that type of magic was rather impressive. When he went out of the Slytherin common room he could tell by the state of his peers it would be an insane dash to the carriages. He understood the first years being a mess. It was ridiculous everyone else had done this before.

Draco had to be patient while he dealt with students. When necessary he helped. He lost count how many times he explained trunks to the right students to the left. It was his responsibility as Head Boy to see everyone off before he and the Ravenclaw Patil could catch the last carriage to join everyone on the train ride back to civilization. Part of him wished to stay in the castle, but knew he was expected to return home to Wiltshire. Draco wasn't sure what would be waiting for him when he returned home to Malfoy Manor. His mother's messages had been vague and sporadic throughout the semester, not that he did much better. A war was brewing; it was dangerous to speak too freely. Even more dangerous when there was physical proof of the conversation. His father had refused to write him. It was no surprise to Draco. Lucuis Malfoy was suppose be serving a life imprisonment sentence in Azkaban. Even with the Ministry being taken over; it wouldn't bode well for someone to intercept owls from his father. Until the war was over and Voldemort crowned malevolent emperor of the Wizarding World, his father had to remain hidden. No reason to be asking for Dementor's kiss. He personally would prefer at least a full kilometer between him and any of those horrendous depressing monsters.

Before too long, he was once again in a carriage with the Head Girl. Draco silently thanked Pomfrey. The batty nurse's elixir made a much more comfortable journey than last time. Did she still find Draco attractive—yes. Was she on a mission to shag him into oblivion—no. To him this fact was more beautiful than a new Firebolt or whatever next broom Spudemore produced. Unfortunately, Patil elected to lecture him the entire journey back that he needed to take his Head Boy responsibilities more seriously. It was a little pathetic that she was still angry that he been able to get away with not having weekend patrol twice more than her during the semester. Draco completely ignored her ramblings. He hardly saw it as his fault. Truly, it was ironic. She was the one who had demanded to make the schedules during the term. She had refused to believe he could handle the responsibility to assign names and times simultaneously. This only amused him more. Given the fact that even with his lackluster performance during their sixth year, his grades were better than her. If there was any imbalance then it had come from her own failings. However, she would not want to hear his innocence in the matter. Draco had learned from the various meetings to let Patil purge. It no longer amazed him how she talked incessantly, but never really anything to say. Remaining silent was the best course of action. She rarely ever wanted his opinion on any matter at hand anyway.

Draco was relieved to board the train and sit with his friends. Originally, it was Blaise and Theodore in their compartment. During the course of the ride Pansy had found them. She was attempting to coyly flirt and garner the affection of Theo. It wasn't very coy when she used every trick in her arsenal on the very lanky young man across from Draco. Draco mused that she really didn't need to try so hard, but to tell her of this would only make her snippy at all of them. Blaise and Draco had to stifle a laugh from time to time when her approaches were a little too ardent. Her behavior however did not dissuade the heir to the Nott fortune. Theo was a bundles of nerves trying to keep his cool exterior. Of course, Draco and Blaise entertainment did not remain for too long. Millicent had retrieved Pansy. As they walked away Millicent and Pansy thought they were so clever. However, the boys could hear their giggles of triumph. It was when they were out of ear shot that Blaise laughed wholeheartedly at their expense. Theo had his bashfully smile. Theo attempted to redirect attention off of him and asked about Blaise's winter break schedule.

It was well known that Zabini usually kept the busiest and most diverse social calendar during the holiday season. His mother was invited to so many of the most exclusive parties across the continent. Being in seven countries during the winter break was nothing new to Blaise; his mother couldn't risk not attending and meeting a chance to bag a new husband. It was to the point where Blaise no longer thought being in Barcelona, Florence, Monaco, Paris, Rome, Venice, and Vienna in a week was all that exciting. Blaise much rather spend time in the Tuscan villa he had inherited from his late father or his childhood home at his maternal grandparent's estate. Blaise had a good laugh at his mother latest suitor. She had been horrified to learn her next fiancé was a gambler and a very poor one to boot. The former Mrs. Zabini had broken off the engagement fairly quickly. Blaise reminded his friends that in the eyes of the world's most desirable woman that just wouldn't do. It was easy to enjoy Blaise's snarky take on his family's adventures. Yet, not everyone was enjoying themselves in their compartment. Even long after Pansy had left Draco could feel Theo's uncomfortable emotions. He was extremely anxious. Poor bloke forced himself to laugh with Draco to Blaise cracks; he was very wooden.

"Nott? Is everything alright?" When Draco couldn't stand it any longer, he asked his nervous friend.

"What? Yes. It is fine." Theodore voice had gone through a range of various levels and tones answering him.

Blaise and Draco shared a look. Blaise elected to save Theo from awkward moment and continued with his stories. Draco tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but something was off. Theo had been fingering the latch of his silver engraved pocket watch throughout the train ride. Draco could almost keep a beat to clicks of Theo checking the time. However, Draco wouldn't push it. Slytherins weren't that forth coming with their personal information. For all Draco knew, Theodore was just equally anxious to see his father. Not that Draco could blame him. Both of their fathers had been rounded up after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. While the risk of a Ministry raid searching for either of their fathers wasn't likely to happen again, now that Voldemort had taken over, it didn't mean one could forget that fear. The first raid had been terrible. It looked like a tornado had swept through the house depositing all their things on the floor. Draco couldn't imagine how terrible it had been for Theo. Theo only had his father. Lady Nott had died so long ago and Mister Nott's heart never recovered enough to want to get remarried. To be alone as unsympathetic Ministry officials ransack the Nott estate had to have been dreadful. Theo quietly got up and exited the compartment only to return when Draco and Blaise were heavily engrossed on a topic of international quidditch. Draco could never understand how a wizard who had spent the majority of his life living in the United Kingdom could still love the ever losing Italian team. Well, he could understand. It had been Blaise's father's favorite team. That was still no excuse for undying loyalty for one of the most under-performing teams in the entire Wizarding World. A point Draco had addressed with his good friend too many times to count.

Even in the heat of his debate with his best mate, he could still feel Theo's anxious fear. Hopefully, whatever was bothering him wasn't too serious. However, there wasn't much time to worry on it. The train was in the station in no time. It was a mad scurry off the train for most everyone. Students were rushing and darting between one another. They all just wanted to make their way to their families. Most everyone was too engrossed with their own lives to really care what was going on. Some tried to say a rushed good bye to friends; most were too busy with luggage. Draco was glad he didn't have to supervise anyone getting off the train. He really didn't care to be responsible any more today. He wanted to be home. His plans involved around a book and some hot mulled wine. As quickly as he could, he apparated home where the wards welcomed him fondly. It was a wonderful magical moment to bask in the joy of returning home. He was barely in the Manor for a minute before he heard his mother's dulcet tone.

"Draco, darling, is that you?" She was making her way into the foyer. Her blonde hair was perfectly pinned back looking every bit the part of the Lady of a prestigious house. Her arms were wide beckoning him.

"Hello, Mother" Draco as he warmly placed two brief kisses on her cheeks as he was engulfed in his mother's embrace.

"Oh, I've missed you. You look so well, my little dragon." She smiled up at him. She visibly relieved that Draco no longer looked as sickly and exhausted as he had been at the end of the summer.

"You are always biased, Mother" Draco gave his mother a genuine smile.

"Well, it is a mother's prerogative." Narcissa Malfoy intoned.

While she looked happy, Draco could tell she was fatigued. Her smile never quiet made it to her blue eyes. He missed that sparkle he had grown accustomed to while growing up. That was before Voldemort.

"I do hope the semester went well. Would you join me for tea and tell me all about—"

Narcissa never had an opportunity to finish her question; nor would Draco be able to join his mother for the afternoon. A few Death Eaters marched into their home. Draco had no idea who had actually entered in their house the Death Eater's faces were still cloaked by their masks. It was apparent that they were roughly handling an immobilized girl with blonde hair. Draco realized that Mister Crabbe was demanding for Lucius to appear. The entire thing made him sick. It was abhorrent that the Dark Lord had elected to imprison his trophies within their walls. It was insulting that other Death Eaters barked orders to his father in his own home. It was revolting that grown men would kidnap a young girl. This whole situation was terrible. It was a clever punishment to have Malfoy Manor tainted by this second uprising. If the war went poorly again for the pureblood club, then the Malfoy family would be brutally condemned for falsely imprisoning witches and wizards. If the war was won by Dark Lord, then their ancestral home would be sullied in Voldemort's New World Order. No self-respecting family would want their ancestral home bathed in so much blood.

Unfortunately, Crabbe's call was not answered by his father. Draco heard his Aunt's excited crackle of amusement long before she entered the room. His only response was to freeze on spot and hope she didn't notice him. The witch madly danced and swayed in delight at the sight of a new prisoner. He was afraid for the girl if Bellatrix decided to make the prisoner her new personal play toy. Draco knew from personal experience that Bellatrix's favorite pastime was torture. She came up Draco and hissed in his left ear.

"It good to see there is still some potential in Hogwarts. The Dark Lord will be so pleased." Her hand went to caress Draco's right cheek she then tutted and continue drawling on.

"You are a stain of disgrace; weak like your pathetic father." She spat at him as her finger nail broke into his skin. It drew blood to the surface.

Draco hissed in pain. He instantly regretted voicing the complaint. The sound had sent a spark of pleasure to dance through Bellatrix's brown eyes. His Aunt twitched her head and smiled as part of her before she roughly pushed him away to turn back to the honored guests at the Manor. She barked at some masked lackeys to throw the girl into the dungeon as the Dark Lord had commanded. It was then Draco realized who the girl was—Luna Lovegood. His stomach dropped a little when he thought of how the last meeting Draco had been forced to attend had went. The sight of Nagini making a meal out of a poor soul was hard to forget. Yes, Loony Lovegood was a member of Dumbledore's Army. Draco seriously doubted how that should be a grounds for a death sentence for a 15 year old girl. Draco thoughts were interrupted by the seeing his father enter into the room. He was unsteady on his feet and bore very little resemblance to the wizard Draco had grown up aspiring to be. The dark circles and his ashy skin it would appear his father hadn't slept in a very long time. Lucius was a shell of the man he once was. Lucius flinched each time Bellatrix barked more orders to him. His mother was silent but internally upset. Narcissa despised the behavior of her older sister, but was too conditioned to do anything about it. Instead all the Malfoy's and their house elves went forth to accomplish the mad witch's wicked demands. Malfoy Manor had to be prepared. Voldemort would arrive soon. Then the real fun would begin.

* * *

 

Draco had learned early on at these meetings it was best if he stared at the knot in the grain on the massive mahogany table. It was placed in the perfect spot from his seat. It made him appear to be listening yet aloof. Looking at the knot made sure his gaze wasn't focused on his hands in his lap or forced to make eye contact with anyone else. Draco could still recall how foolish he had been wanting to be present at these meetings when Voldemort had come back a few years ago. He had glorified the fact he had been chosen. The fact that he was allowed to be inducted so soon made him feel superior. Most of his peer's weren't there with their fathers. Draco had made quiet the fool of himself. He had no idea being selected had been his father's punishment. The failure at the Ministry came at a steep price. Naivety is such a bittersweet curse. Draco found that out after he had been forcibly branded with Voldemort's mark the truth. He wasn't sure what hurt more the sting of being played so thoroughly or stabbing pain in the ceremonial process. Either way Draco had felt he had gotten the worse end of the bargain. Then again Voldemort did not have a reputation of engaging fairly. Draco should have expected such when his soul was the currency Voldemort demanded. Reminiscing now was not the best idea either. Instead Draco tried to clear his mind of anything other than the words coming out of Dark Lords mouth and the pattern of the table grain.

The meeting had started out so well. Honestly, well was a tad bit of a stretch. But, Voldemort had arrived in a fairly good mood. A fact that is generally a rare occurrence. There had been plenty of gloating of the success of capturing their newest prize. It appeared making a father fear for the life of his daughter was the best thing to stop bad publicity. It was the Quibbler—a tabloid. It shouldn't be that important; especially, since he had the Daily Prophet in his back pocket. Voldemort wanted more. The Dark Lord demanded to have total domination of the wizarding world including the media of press. Xenophilius Lovegood couldn't be bought. In Voldemort's mind that just wouldn't do at all. So, the only response the Dark Lord knew was savagery. It was a subject the dark wizard was well verse in. Thankfully, the deal was struck that Luna wouldn't be harmed unless Mister Lovegood wrote something displeasing. For Luna's case Draco hoped the Quibbler didn't test the maniac. Once the subject surrounding how to deal with the Quibbler concluded the Dark Lord started demanding for more reports. Voldemort's good mood never remained for very long. Soon other Death Eater's gave their excuses. The red eye snake of a man soured fairly quickly. Most of them were not to his level of satisfaction and he had no sympathy for failure. Eventually, Carrow reported how things were in Hogwarts and made a snide remark about Draco's level of involvement. Draco stiffen in his chair.

"Draco, have you refused to practice your unforgiveables?" Voldemort voice was unearthly cold.

"My Lord, I have been busy with my duties at Hogwarts." Draco stomach dropped waiting for The Dark Lord to decide what to do. Draco's father flinched when Voldemort elected to laugh. This wasn't going to do well.

"And your duties to me?" The next noise out him was horrible pondering hiss. "This will not do; especially, with your history. Wormtail, bring out one of the Snatcher's mudbloods."

Draco watched as Wormtail brought out an old man. Draco had never seen the man before but there was no doubt how afraid the frail old man was to be there.

"Draco demonstrate your abilities." Voldemort hissed. There were a few scoffs from other from the table.

Draco got up from the table and walked closer to the old man. Draco didn't want to cast an unforgivable. He knew he couldn't look back at the rest of the Death Eaters. He was forced to look at the man. He had already been beaten and dragged through the forest. Draco had learned the hard way that he didn't have the stomach for this. Looking into Dumbeldore's eyes on the Astronomy Tower had taught him a lot about himself. He couldn't kill someone in cold blood. While this man was a stranger; he could see a likeness in his eye to his old Headmaster. They were another pair of eyes he wasn't willing to extinguish from humanity. Another set of wise eyes begging for him to rethink his choices.

"Don't keep the Dark Lord waiting!" Bellatrix shrieked at him.

Draco was shaken. He knew he would be forced to act soon. Draco elected to cast an imperio curse. The old man feet quickly started to tap dance in the middle of the meeting. It was the only thing he could think to spare both himself and the stranger. He heard a few chuckles from some Death Eaters. The laughter didn't last for very long. It grew gravely quiet other than the taps of shoes on the marble floor. Draco realized he had upset the Dark Lord. Voldemort saw Draco's curse as a mockery.

"Crucio!" Voldemort yelled.

Draco collapsed on the floor. The pain was excruciating. Every muscle had spasms and every nerve felt on fire. He was sure Voldemort was speaking but he couldn't make out any of the words. The pounding in his ears was deafening. Draco had no idea how long Voldemort kept him under the influence of the spell. It felt like an entire eternity in a blink. Voldemort was making a point; reminding Draco to learn his lessons. Voldemort owned him and Draco had to do exactly as he was bidden. The pain would make a lasting impression of the threat. Draco felt like he couldn't take much more. He could feel a bone snap here and there. The Veela wanted to protect itself. The pain of the curse plus the agony trying to stop the Veela change was unbearable. His vision was blurred and things were growing darker. Was he hyperventilating? Merlin, if he turned now… Please…No. He cannot go full bird here. He didn't have a death wish. He was begging on the floor. Begging himself and begging the Dark Lord in equal measure. Then the pain stopped. His muscles were twitching too sensitive from the sensory overload. Draco deeply inhaled in relief. Well, it was more of a wheeze but was the best he could do. Draco's gaze moved off the floor and turned towards where Voldemort had been. When he looked over he saw Snape standing up also with his stoic face not betraying a single emotion.

"Is it true you been aiding Snape trying to find Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed turning back to Draco.

Draco didn't have time to answer. He knew Voldemort would reach into his mind for that answer. Draco quickly selected a memory of him and Snape talking about the trio's disappearance in the Headmaster's office. He barricaded the rest of his mind from the prying grasp of Voldemort's magic. What Voldemort saw must had been enough to satisfy him for now. Draco gulped for air when Voldemort turned away from him. As much as he wanted to stop the shaking he couldn't.

"If you retrieve the locket unharmed or bring me Potter then all will be forgiven." Voldemort said. Before he turned back to the rest of Death Eaters he whispered in his ear "Even your father's failures." Voldemort sneered and continued on with his meeting.

It took longer than Draco was willing to admit, but eventually he righted himself. As he got off the floor, he realized the state of the old man. The grey haired man was collapsed on the floor. His body worn from age and broken from abuse. His brown eyes stared into the void as color faded from his skin. The Dark Lord had not spared the man. Voldemort's pet slithered across the marble floor in front of Draco on its way to the animal's next feast. The snake would gorge itself on another innocent carcass while the room occupants pretended to not even notice or care. Draco willed himself not to think about it as he walked away trying to keep the bile in his throat.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord attention had found a new target. He was taking out his frustrations on her with vengeance. It was easy to determine that Voldemort held grudges. His ire was directed to Umbridge. It seemed he hadn't forgiven her for her colossal failure from September. In his garish red, it was her fault that the locket had fallen into wrong hands and that Harry Potter had escaped from inside the Ministry under her watch. Draco remembered he had a good laugh about it when the tale had been printed in the Quibbler. Blaise had found it and shared it with him. Of course, this was not the time or place to have even a hint of a smile. Instead, he listened as Umbridge complained. Draco returned to his seat next to his father. The master of the Malfoy Manor smelled like a distillery and shook a little in his chair. Most of the Death Eaters paid him no mind; they had grown accustomed to the degradation of a once proud man. The only people who seemed to care were Draco and his mother. Narcissa's hand had found his father's knee to try to comfort him and steady him. His father tightly clutched her hand with his—stark white and tense. Draco prayed that his family survived this.

Bellatrix had demanded to punish Draco after the Death Eaters had left. Unfortunately, she was given her own set of missions to complete by Voldemort. Bellatrix always put the Dark Lord first in her priorities. It was very likely if things went poorly for her she would use her wand on him. However, for right now pain wasn't on the menu for her revenge. She had informed Draco that he had embarrassed the entire family with his lackluster performance—yet again. There were comments how he wasn't a real wizard and a few more insults comparing him to usefulness of a Squib. His aunt had decided that during the break it would be Draco responsibility to bring food and water to the prisoners. A job fit for a house elf would be well suited for him according to her. There had to be a few former Lord Malfoy rolling in their grave to see the next heir forced to be the servant for his Aunt's pleasure. However, his pride suffered less than his body did under her wand.

Draco made his way down to the dungeon with a tray full of vegetable stew, bread, and water. There weren't too many prisoners. The majority of Voldemort's captures either died or were sent to Azkaban. Only very select few remained in Wiltshire. He was thankful that Mister Ollivander was still alive. He had been imprisoned since end of the summer. The old man didn't speak to him. All esteemed wandmaker had to say to him was expressed in his gaze of fear and disgust. Draco gave the man his food quickly wanting the uncomfortable exchange to stop. He understood what the elder wizard thought of him; it wasn't necessary to be voiced. Against another wall Draco found Luna. She was sitting crossed legged on the ground. Her hands were tightly holding onto her multicolor mismatched socked feet. Draco thought it was strange to see her without her shoes. She had been wearing them when she was captured. Why anyone would take them off down in the dungeon was beyond him.

"Lovegood, why aren't you wearing shoes?" Draco asked as he put her bowl of stew and cup of water beside her.

"Oh when I woke up many of my things had been taken." Luna said as she held the bowl in her hands gingerly taking a sip.

Draco had witness Mister Nott take off her necklace and earrings while she had been immobilized. Bellatrix was on her way to deliver them to her father. It would illustrate the veracity of Voldemort's threat. Hopefully, for the Lovegood family Luna's father would take them seriously.

"Your jewelry was sent to your father." Draco gave her the truth.

Draco figured she would ask him questions or beg to see her father. Instead she nodded her head with a sad smile and said something quiet to herself. He barely heard a word of it. He caught something to do about Nargles.

"Nargles?"

"Yes, they have a horrible propensity to steal shoes. I think your home might be infested with them, Malfoy."

Draco wanted to make the joke that the only infestation at Malfoy Manor were Death Eaters; however, he was sure that would only amuse himself. Luna didn't eat much she kept grabbing her feet. It was obvious that she was too cold. The wards in the dungeon were strong but a Malfoy could always be able to use their magic. Before Draco thought about it for very long he made a quick warming charm on her socks. It was a necessary charm any Slytherin mastered early in their education. It was the easiest solution to one of the downsides of living in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Luna looked up questioning at Draco. Her gaze made him feel uncomfortable especially when she focused in on his scratched cheek. He charmed the dishes to return to the kitchen once the prisoners finished eating their meager dinner. He internally berated himself for wasting so much time down here to begin with. Draco headed back towards the staircase that would lead him out of the cold dungeon.

"Thank you—" Luna started to speak but the rest was never heard.

Draco had refused to hesitate to listen to Luna. Hopefully, she would know better than to say anything about what he did to help. He already regretted his discussion. If anyone found out Bellatrix would make it hell for him. Draco really rather not get into trouble for a weak altruistic moment.

* * *

 

**It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice~ Joseph Conrad**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go another chapter. I don’t think it the chapter you wanted, but it was the next chapter in the plan. I felt a tad terrible. You all were so excited thinking Draco knew…I didn’t mean to tease!! It didn’t even cross my mind that I left you all with a bit of a cliff hanger. I wish that your guesses were right. It would have been pretty adorable for him to find out that way. But wasn’t part of the plan I made and what I had already had written. It is the downside of having an outline.
> 
> Thank you. I am blown away and appreciate that I have 100 Kudos and 12 reviews! I really wasn’t sure if I ever would get that many. Your kind words, your request for updates, and your advice on ways to improve mean a lot to me. Thank you for giving my fanfic a chance.
> 
>  
> 
> tbeth—Thank you for catching my mistake. Woo and Woe are different words that my eyes did not catch when I reread the thing editing. I am embarrassed but I appreciate someone mentioning it. No insult was taken. Hopefully, nothing that bad slipped by this time. :/
> 
> Ceren—Glad you liked the dream it was very fun to write.
> 
> vjc—I am sorry to disappoint with Draco not knowing. Sometimes I wish I could have them kiss already but my idea was what if Draco really was a Veela during Deathly Hallows and then my brain attempted to make things work from it.
> 
> meisgreece—I hoped that conversation would make sense on paper. It made sense in my mind. Seemed like a game clever Slytherin boys would develop.
> 
> xoxo 
> 
> bluesuitharold


	9. You'll See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas isn't quiet as he expected.

               There was nothing happy about this Christmas. Everything about the manor felt hollow. The majestic decorations were missing from the various grand rooms. There was a complete lack any holiday cheer. Then again hard to feel anything pleasant with their soul crushing sporadic house guests. What was the point to feel hope as the war continued to brew. It was expected that Christmas traditions were another casualty on the ever expanding list. Of course, his mother had ardently promised that next year would be better—like it was before. Draco knew when she said it would be an empty promise. His mother trying to avoid the topic that this might be his last Christmas. She couldn’t think about that fact right now. It was just that Draco knew better. It was a sweet notion. For some old reason it was one that his mother desperately needed to cling to that hope. Draco debated whether that was a character strength or weakness for his mother. He couldn’t fathom how she clung to it when he had long given up on naïve hopes and dreams like the magic of Christmas. To him he didn’t see the point to give Voldemort more things to corrupt.

               Draco wonder how things could ever go back to the way they were before the plotting, raids, and murders. Draco had lost count of the other crimes occurring happening under their roof. The Dark Lord felt it necessary to remind his family that they had pledge their loyalty to him. If Voldemort failed again then the entire Malfoy family would rot away in Azkaban. He was sure the Order would see sure of that. Regardless how this war went the Malfoy legacy would be forever tainted. No one would remember any of the many accomplishes heralded by the various figureheads of his house. Draco had sworn his allegiance to him all in the sake of redeeming his father’s honor. Of course, it was too late any of the Malfoy’s honor had been tarnished by the blood spilled in Voldemort’s quest for domination.

               No one would remember any of the good deeds done by his family. It will soon be forgotten than for over a decade Narcissa Malfoy was responsible for creating the largest charity event of the year. It was an event covered by most all wizarding papers as the most important holiday spectacle to be attend. It was the event of the year; filled to capacity with the who’s who in Wizarding World. It was a lavish production that his mother would spend months scrutinizing selecting the most appropriate charity and generous donors. No one will recall the galleons his family had collected for bettering the Wizarding World.

               The deem prospect of his future made the memories of those bygone holidays more bittersweet. Even with all the insanity his mother always found a balanced between the hectic public affair and their own intimate celebrations. She would not compromise on that. After losing her first sister from family exile and her other sister to Azkaban, family traditions became even more important to her. She needed them more when Draco had been growing up. His father had always tried to give her that. At times, some of the traditions seemed trite to Draco. His mother had insisted that they adopt the Black family tradition that the youngest member of the family place the first ornament on the tree. During Draco’s first Christmas, he had dropped the crystal ornament. His fumbling toddler fingers had completely miss the evergreen. Luckily, with a quick spell his mother had easily reattached the wings of the angel. The Malfoy tradition was to always use the same tree. That had always been production in and of itself. The head of the Malfoy house would have the responsibility to magic the tree off the grounds and into the house and back on the property before Epiphany. Of course, the family didn’t fully decorate the Manor. Hell, they didn’t even ever finish decorating the Christmas tree. The house elves would quickly place hundreds of ornaments, tinsels, and lights on the grand tree as soon as Draco had secured the first ornament. They might not be the most quintessential traditions, but they had been their own and that had been what matter to his mother.

               There were still times Draco had to admit how nice it was to have his own simple family holiday moments. It was a nice relaxing pace compared to the very public holiday event. The manor was an epicenter of excitement leading up to the gala. It had always fascinated him when he was a child. When he was too young to attend his mother would attempt to bribe him to stay in his rooms. The sweet biscuits, Christmas crackers, tea, and a new toy never held his attention for too long. Draco had found it always too tempting to sneak down as the litany of guest poured into their large public rooms. He would hid away to watch the countless number of Ministry officials, prominent wizards in business, and the occasional foreign dignitary dancing, drinking, and donating the night away. When he was very young, he had the habit of falling asleep in one of his hiding places. Usually his house elf would tuck him back into bed before Draco embarrassed himself. However his mother still loved to tease him about the year his father caught him sleeping under the table where all the sweets were placed. Draco had only been six at the time. Once Draco got a little older, Lucius decided Draco would attend the events so he get familiar with how to network with important officials at a young age. Before long Draco abandon his quests of attempting to steal extra desserts and instead would try to sneak a glass of champagne for himself. However, his mother always seemed to catch him and would thank him for refreshing her drink before the glass ever touched his lips.

               Of course, those nights were only a distant memory. Malfoy Manor had not seen one of his mother’s events since his fifth year. There was no way his mother could host the event after his father’s trial. Originally, Narcissa had hoped one of the other high society wives would take over the tradition. She dearly wanted the opportunity to continue to contribute to the gala even if she had fell too far from grace to be the hostess. That of course never happened. It wasn’t too surprising that the event ceased to exist. Ministry officials were being replaced left and right. The economy was stagnant at best from the threat of war. Moreover, hardly anyone was willing to voluntarily visit Wizarding England in the new political climate. Any of the family’s private traditions had been made impractical with the sheer number of Death Eaters and the vindictive nature of Voldemort. The grand tree that been used for generations had been turned to ash last year. The house elves were instructed to keep the remaining family decorations that had survived the fire tucked away and out of the Death Eater’s destructive path. It sometimes felt like a hopeless cause.

               Draco knew he shouldn’t dwell on just things; however dealing with the prisoners only made Christmas fell more impossible. He hated seeing the hopeless look in their eyes. Having to swim in the feelings of their fears would take an emotion toll on him. After delivering the food to the prisoners kept in the Manor’s dungeon, Draco just longed for life to be simpler. It was as if the house elves knew how much of a struggle the day had been for him. When he went to return the prisoner’s trays, Draco smelled the tempting aroma of gingersnaps from the kitchen. The tasty morsels had just been placed out to cool. He simply could not resist. The air had just the perfect hint cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. Draco contently breathed deep and reminisce on his favorite Christmas memories. They were all the simple moments like getting his flying lesson on his first broom with his father, or remembering watching his mother coax his father to dance after too much wine, or his departed grandmother telling the best stories by the fire.

               He was about to treat himself to his fourth cookie when he heard the sound of a particular set of heels on the marble floor. His entire body tensed with the realization that his Aunt had arrived back to the Manor. Bellatrix sauntered in over in what Draco had learned from pervious interactions was her _in a foul mood_ gait. He had hoped his aunt would spend the holiday worshiping the ground Voldemort’s robe dragged on. He was not in luck. Each click of her heel flooded Draco with more dread. Without a doubt Draco felt like the trapped stag in a hunter’s crosshair, totally petrified to move a muscle all the while wanting nothing more than to dart away from danger. There was no escape for him. Bellatrix looked him over and from her scoff it was obvious she did not care for what she observed.

               “So, you think you deserve a treat, boy?” Bellatrix tone dripped with venom.

               It was a catch 22 situation for Draco. He had learned sometimes if he answered her she would strike him for interrupting her. However, depending on her mood, if he held his tongue, then the reason for the blow would be for ignoring her. Draco had learn the hard way; he would not win with this woman.

               “No, Aunt Bellatrix.” Draco stared at the wall ahead steeling himself for her wand to flick.

               After a quick movement of her hand, Draco’s knees unforgivingly slammed against stone floor of the kitchen. Draco couldn’t stop the hiss of pain. Bellatrix non-wand hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at her smiling from the sound of his pain.

               “Look at me when you talk to me. I would hate to tell Cissy that with all her hard work her boy has no manners.” The sarcastic tut in her tone only added insult to the sharp dig of her nails on his jawline. He was sure she would leave marks.

               “Yes, Aunt Bellatrix.” Draco kept his tone as even as possible as he looked up at the deranged woman.

               “Maybe you need another lesson. “ Bellatrix pondered loudly to herself. Once she was sure Draco full attention resided on her, Bellatrix pulled out a gruesome blade from one of the deep pockets of her black witch’s robes. The handled was craved with morbid little details on the hilt. Its edge caught the light and Draco involuntarily gulped. This only brought a sinister smile to her. Fear and pain always brought the most joy to his aunt.

               “Do you know what this is Draco?” Her tone was patronizing and on the verge of her horrendous cackle.

               “It is a knife.” Draco responded flatly as he was forced to stare up into her cold eyes.

               “Oh, this isn’t just your average little blade. Do you know why my little nephew?” Bellatrix never gave Draco an opportunity to answer her. “This beautiful piece of craftsmanship was spelled while forged. No amount of magic can conceal a cut from this blade.”

               During the entire time his aunt was explaining the special quality of her latest torture device she was having it inch closer and closer to his skin. Her wicked smirk of her lip coupled with the cold deranged gleam in her eye was enough to make Draco’s heart pound. He knew the danger of moving even an inch in this situation. His hands were starting to sweat while he debated whether it was worth the risk to try to will his wand into his hand. Draco wished that she had never broken out of Azkaban. He would have happily gone through his whole life relieved never to have meet his mother’s sister.

               “Isn’t that delightful, to always be able to see your handiwork. Do you think we should test it out?” Bellatrix drew the point of the blade closer to his neck.  

               “Bellatrix! What in Merlin’s name are you doing with my son!” His mother voice had just enough bite to make his aunt jump back from her threatening position.

               “Cissy, we were only having a bit of fun.” Bellatrix pouted and huffed as she swayed over to the doorway the lady of the house had just entered.

               “Weren’t we Draco?” Bellatrix sharply turned back to Draco her heels making a sharp sound on the marble floor. She was daring him to disagree with her barely veiled threat.

               “I’m fine Mother.” Draco face was emotionless as he got up. His knees were relieved to no longer kneel. He might have to do a spell to ensure he wouldn’t be bruised on the morning from Bellatrix’s earlier treatment, but he knew if he said it now it would only upset his mother. She was already concerned enough by the way she was looking at him. Each darting glance was her begging him to say he was alright. When Bellatrix turned backed to face Narcissa, he send his mother a small reassuring sad smile. Narcissa sighed a deep breath of relief and focused on her sister.

               “Cissy, I’m bored let’s go torment the house elves like we young.” Bellatrix whined as she grabbed Narcissa’s arm to drag her down the hallway.

               “Bellatrix—“ Draco could hear the exhaustion in his mother voice.

               “Cissy, you are no fun…” Draco was unable to hear the rest of their conversation as the pair of sisters went further and further away.

               Draco quickly retrieved his wand and with a quick flick the pain he felt in his knees were gone. Instead he felt the warmth of the healing magic work it ways to remedy his aches and pain. He had lost his appetite for anything.   The aftertaste of the sweet treats had been soured. Draco quietly exited out the kitchen and turned down the opposite end of the hall. There was no way he wanted to spend any more time than necessary with his aunt on this holiday. In no time he found his way to the library. The Malfoy Manor collection required a room that was two stories tall. When Draco didn’t mind to be bother, he would be beside the fireplace and just enjoy reading. However, on days like these when he was in a mood he would seek out his little sanctuary. He took the mahogany staircase up to the second level that overlook the large sitting area. Rarely did his parents or anyone ever come up to the upper level of their library for it was more a little maze of various bookshelves and little collections of ancestral trinkets.

               As a child Draco had been fascinated by the little hidden gems that decorated between the bookshelves and tomes. There were ancient relics only preserved by magic on displayed in the library. Although his favorite heirloom was in a little nook. It was a shield from a bygone era of knights and legends. When he had been a child he attempted to play with it only to dent the metal on the corner of the shield. His parents had forbade him to bother it ever again. Instead it hung on the wall towards the very back near one of the windows that overlook the back of the estate. Thankfully, in that area there was one of the most comfortable oversized black leather chair. Draco had spent many hours hiding away from reality. There wasn’t much to the little space. It was mostly hidden by bookcases. No one other than Draco really ever used this portion of the library anymore. Of course the house elves quickly learned that this was the place Draco went when he wasn’t particularly happy. When he sunk down into the plush chair, he saw that one of the house elves had already left him gifts on the ornate little side table. Draco could always tell which house elf prepared this little nook for him by what was left. There was a folded knitted wool throw to for him, a cup of tea charmed to remain warm, and a very old and tattered sketch book. It meant that Took had seen him on his way here. Took was the only elf that ever gave him his sketch book; the rest of them all put out different novels for him to read. He was skilled enough in his little drawings but lacked the true talent to be proficient as an artist. He would sketch while a professor drooled on about boring topics in class but he had long ago abandon sketching in the leather bound sketch book his mother had made for him for a birthday gift before going to Hogwarts as a first year.

               Draco flipped through the various sketches. It was mostly filled with drawings around quidditch or dragons. There were a few silly drawings of him catching the snitch before Potter which made him shake his head. To think there was a day where his biggest problem was dealing with boy wonder. Of course the most common drawings were of Herbidean Black Dragons. It had been the first dragon Draco had ever seen in person and therefore his favorite. He gotten pretty good at drawing them over the years. When Draco got to the first blank page he wasn’t very sure what to draw. He was mindlessly drawing for a little bit just thinking about the mess his life was now. However, before long his mind begin to wonder to what he usually thought about—his mystery mate. Was she happy? What was she like? What she was doing? With charcoal in hand Draco began to try to imagine what his mate looked like. It was a harder task that he originally thought it would be. He would only get so far before he would become too unhappy with his rough little sketch. There was always something that felt off. He could never seem be able to make anyone feel like her. Draco put down his drawing and spelled the charcoal smudges away. Under the woolen blanket he watched the snow start coating the grounds. This would probably be his last Christmas. It been half the year already and he was no closer to finding out who he was fated to be with to survive. Draco’s eyes grew heavy watching the snowstorm before too long he drifted off to sleep wanting and wishing not to alone in the library.

 

* * *

 

_To the casual observer, it would appear that the table was in utter disarray in the center of the library. However, there was a system to the chaotic madness of the tomes, books, and scrolls. Everything was placed in chronological order in a clockwise manner around her with the more delicate works balancing on top of more verbose writers. At the very center her own scroll of her notes laid on the table. Of course, the sheer volume of resource material made a solitary desk to study at impractical. She usually did prefer being in one of the solidary desks at in a secluded alcove. It was always quieter there and less of a chance of her being bothered by another student than being in view of the entrance. However, when a particular project became exceedingly complicated, it made sense for her to commander one of the larger tables. The original purpose of this area was meant for groups of students. But over the course of the last three hours there wasn’t much of the dark oak table visible under her existence collection of research.   Hermione refused to feel guilty her use of library resources. She would put them back correctly and no one else was here._

_The library had been deserted hours ago. There were very few individuals who would willing sacrifice a Friday night to venture down to the library. Even Madam Pince had snuck away early to enjoy her evening off of school grounds. Pince had long ago given up shooing Hermione out of library on weekends. It simply stop being worth it for the librarian to sit guard over Hermione. Hermione was always proficient with putting up the entirely of resources she got out in one of her endless research quests. She followed the rules—mostly. The worse thing Pince had to worry about with Hermione was her sneaking into the restricted section to study a more complex subject. Pince respected that much more than the loud, rude, and randy students did not respect the library. So, for the last hour maybe hour and half Hermione had been left without supervision. Her company was the written word. While the Gryffindor tower was wonderfully fun and hilarious on nights like these, Hermione had been stumped for too long on this problem. She really didn’t want to be surrounded by her friends tonight when she was already distracted with the issue on hand. She lost count how many Friday nights were spent on watching Harry and Ron cook up some scheme that would fail, or being trapped in an inane conversations between Lavender and Parvati, or trying to understand how Ginny dated so many of her friends while holding the largest torch for Harry. She just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight. Instead, all she wanted was to enjoy the peace and the quiet in her personal haven. There wasn’t much better than having this magnificent library all to herself when got in one of her moods._

_Hermione quickly skimmed the titles in the left most corner. She stretched to reach the next tome she wanted to dive into. She was entirely engrossed with her reading and utterly unaware of how much of a bookworm she truly appeared. She had her feet tucked under her as she read. Her kicked off shoes remained discarded on the floor under the bench. The sleeve of her jumper and blouse been rolled up. Most of her hair had been hastily corralled up in a messy bun. She hadn’t had much to secure it other than her wand. A few loose pieces haphazardly framed her face as she read. She was on a quest. She would figure this all out. There had to be an answer. Did she miss something the first time? Her eyes didn’t dare move from the pages even as she wrote her little notes to herself. Her scroll was quickly become full of her small handwriting as she tried to fill the length with double the amount of words the normal student would dare to fit on the length of scroll. For such a long time, the only noise had been the sound of her quill and the rustling of papers. When the great door of the library creaked open, it seemed to echo in the empty room. Of course, Hermione didn’t stop to investigate who was coming in. It was very unusual for even the most studious Ravenclaw to come down here at this late hour on a Friday, but there had been the occasional equally studious peer. They would always leave her alone so she wasn’t too concerned about being bothered. She heard the sounds of their footsteps on the stone floor. She tried to ignore the sound and focus on her work. Unfortunately, each step the sound grew louder and it would appear she might be bothered after all. That could only meant someone from the tower wanted her to return._

_“I’ll be done in a few hours.” She attempted to dismiss them off without bothering to check who came down to retrieve her._

_There was a masculine scoff in response. It was as if that person wanted to respond with “I heard that excuse before” but knew better than to say that aloud to her. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at him. Hermione simply figured that Harry or Ron had come down to fetch her back to the tower. She was not in the mood to watch another wizarding chess game between the two of them. Ron was going to win._

_“Seriously, I’ll be upstairs after I get finish with this. Some of us actually don’t enjoy to be ignorant on things.”_

_Hermione turned the page. Her tone was a mix of serious and playful. Usually, that would be enough to get a “fine Hermione” or a “whatever Mione” from her best friends. They usually wouldn’t try her patience. If they bothered her on a Friday nights when she was in the studying mood they might become subject to her wrath. Neither would risk the potential for not getting her helpful guidance and advice for one of the coming assignments due shortly—assignments that Hermione had already completed correctly._

_Hermione was sure that she would hear a sigh and the dragging of his feet as he complained about it was a Friday night. She would stifle her laugh until after his footsteps had faded far away and he was out of the library. However, the usual behavior didn’t happen. Instead, he came closer to her. She felt him standing behind her. She knew if she turned around she get sucked into a conversation about how she shouldn’t be studying tonight.   So, it seemed logical to continue to ignore him. Hermione focused on rereading her notes to make sure they made sense. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he quietly placed her discarded robe on the table beside her notes. It must have fallen at some point of her studying. Ok, so he was at least doing something nice before leaving then._

_“Thanks.” She mumbled as she went back to her work hoping her friend get the hint and leave. She was very sufficient with finding her way back to the tower without getting house points deducted._

_Hermione didn’t want to deal with this tonight. She had already skimmed her notes and was trying to read the research again. It was hard to concentrate when she was slightly unnerved with him silently reading her notes over her shoulder. Since when did either of the boys ever care about reading her notes on things that weren’t assignments. On the rare occasion they actually cared to know, they would just wait for her to be done and for her to condense what she learned in easily understandable parts for them. She tried to focus on the section she was reading. She was determine to finish this research. It was important. She would not be bothered by him. It didn’t matter that he was hovering so close to her. It shouldn’t matter…. Yet, there she found herself forcibly glaring at the page and biting her lip. She had started to reread the third paragraph on the page for the fifth time. This would not do._

_“If you aren’t going to go away, then at least do something helpful.” Hermione stated as she moved her notes closer to her and hopefully out of his eye sight. She pointed with her head to one of the spare books for him to read as she rubbed her stiff neck. That threat should have him running back to safety to the tower or silently reading. Either way it would bring the end of someone reading over her shoulder. She heard him quickly rubbing his hands together and half expected him to sit down on the other bench and read. Instead, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his warmed hands gently rest on her shoulders._

_“What are you—“ Hermione tensely started to ask unsure what to make of this situation._

_She never even finished the question because his hand started to move across her shoulders. Hermione couldn’t help but to let out of moan as he massaged her very tense muscles.  His touch was like magic; releasing the strain from too many hours hunched over books. Her quill rolled on the table forgotten as she involuntarily closed her eyes. This was perfection. He used just the right amount of pressure that made her feel like putty in his hands. Hermione couldn’t even remember a time she was more relaxed. She could almost fall asleep right her on top her pile of books under his touch. She should be embarrassed by the sighs and moans; but she didn’t. He never chuckled at her. He didn’t even hesitated no matter her response. He only remained on the task to working out all the knots in her neck and shoulders. His touch was constant, gentle yet firm. Merlin, it was practically heavenly. She had no idea how long they were like this but she groaned at the loss of his touch. He had straddled the bench beside her. She had not meant to but she couldn’t stop herself when her head fell to his shoulder. Her body had subconsciously searched out for his; it was obvious she still wanted to feel his touch. Her eyes still felt so heavy as he gently wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t want to think about how this all seemed so natural. It was almost second nature for him to cradle her in his arms. She heard his heartbeat. Its thrumming beat was attempting to lull her to sleep. His quiet inhale and exhale of his breath seemed to match her own. In his arms she could but to breathe him in. God, did he smelled divine—masculine with hint of spearmint._

_“Thank you” She whispered to him._

_Her eyes were fluttering as she whispered to him. All she could see was the column of his neck and strong jaw. In the most spontaneous moment of her life, when she finished saying thank you she placed a kiss on his neck. His reaction to her spontaneous action was immediate. His moan was far different from the satisfying noises he had coxed from her. There was an unabashed need. As if she answered one his most ardent prayers. Hermione couldn’t help but to feel like she had awoken something else in him. She enjoyed the rush of empowerment as her hand glided over his chest. He promptly brought their lips together. This was far from the demure peck she had ever had with Victor Krum. This was intoxicating and demanding. They were pressed as close together as possible but it still didn’t seem enough. When his lips finally left hers, she was gasping for air. Only then did she opened her eyes. Her amber gaze finally meet his hungry grey eyes. There was no smirk or sneer on his face. Just freshly kissed lips that were quickly descending to pay homage to the side of her neck. It felt absolutely sinful. Her heart was pounding. She should stop this. She meant to push him away, but she didn’t want to. Instead, she was running her fingers through silky platinum blonde hair not daring to give him a chance to break away. Not yet…_

               “HERMIONE!”

               Hermione eyes fluttered open. Her hands were gripping her pillow tightly. She was in her makeshift bed in the tent countless miles away from her favorite library in the world. Thankfully, she was alone. She barely had time to even worry about her dream given Harry kept yelling for her. Merlin, what had happened now? Was the word officially gone to hell in a handbasket? While she could not deny that she was in an awful dreadful mood, she tried to focus on Harry. She quickly scrambled out of the tent and looked her somewhat smirking best friend. It would be an understatement, to say she hadn’t been prepared to see who Harry had brought back to camp. She hadn’t even been awake for two minutes, but Hermione was done with this day. She had exploded with anger at the very sight of Ron coming towards the tent. There had been so much she had wanted to say to him for weeks. But when the moment had finally arrive of course she couldn’t merely just call Ron out of his stupidity.   Instead, in the middle of nowhere she found herself throwing and hitting the moron with whatever she could in absolute frustration. Unfortunately, the morning was only getting worse. She received the lovely surprise that Harry Potter, the supposed chosen one, had managed to lose her wand. Oh how she wanted to throttled the both of them. She was internally fuming when Ron went through his absolutely ridiculous and romantic explanation for his sorry behavior and his eventual return to them.

               Did he really think that would be enough? Did he think that those mere words would be enough to erase the weeks of pain he had carelessly inflicted on her? Her anger was still simmering under the surface. Did he think all would be forgiven when he came back soaked to the bone in the middle of winter saying things like her whispering his name and ball of light hitting his chest. She stormed off. If Ron had paid any attention over the last few years; he could have had her whispering his name and God knows what else to him long ago. Instead, he asked Padma to the Yule Ball. Instead, he wanted Lavender Brown and her nauseating cutesy slobbering over him. Instead,he abandon her after she begged for him to stay. Push comes to shove Ron always picked something or someone else **instead of her**. She didn’t think she could deal with either of her friends with their ridiculous looks on their faces. How dare they expect she just jump up and down like a giddy cheerleader after everything. One destroyed horocrux didn’t solve the rest of the amounting number of problems facing them.

               Hermione wrapped her arms around herself in her attempt to stay warm as she trekked off by herself. In doing so, she couldn’t help but remember her dream. It had seemed so vivid in the dream the touch of his hands, the beat of his heart, and the hunger in his kiss. The wind was so biting cold it almost tricked her mind to feel a false memory of it before she dismissed that particularly idiotic thought. Happy Belated Christmas to her. Only she would dream of snogging Malfoy mere minutes before the man she spend the majority of her life wanting waltzed back into her life. She tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that her dreams with Ron never left her heart pounding like the ones where she woke from being in Malfoy’s arms. It wasn’t going to happen again. Didn’t matter how delectable her subconscious thought the Slytherin git’s lips to be. She launched a rock thoroughly the air with her swift unforgiving kick as she marched farther away from the tent that seem to curse her with dreams about an absolute prat.

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**Kiss me and you’ll see how important I am~ Sylvia Plath**

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I rewrote this chapter so many different times and so many different ways.  Sorry it took so long.  I wasn't happy with anything I wrote for the longest time.  To be honest I am still second guessing myself... but I figured it was time to just let it go so I could start working on the next chapter.  Hopefully, the dream will make up for how long it took.   :/ Sorry for the double paste! I have no idea how that happened. ctrl+v happy

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tbeth—I am glad you were happy to see another chapter and I am sorry you had to wait so long for this one. I am glad you get it. While, there are cuter ways to meet it didn’t real right for this story. In other stories it works.   I am sorry it took me so long to get this one up.   I appreciate every review that someone makes so I feel that I should at least write them back.

vjc—I am glad you felt that the chapter help understand more of Draco. Well I hope this kissing scene while not real was enough to satisfy the shipper heart. That is me… this head usually always go the most complicated scenario first. I hope this gave a little insight on how Hermione feels about dreaming of Draco.

Ceren—Sorry you had to wait so much for chapter 9. I wasn’t happy with the first *or third* draft of this chapter.   I am glad you enjoyed the diversion to seeing how Voldemort was effecting his life even if it isn’t as descriptive as it should merit. I agree with your perspective. She trying to be strong and is conflicted. Her only sister she has left is tormenting everyone else she loves but afraid to say too much and bring Voldemort harder down on the men in her life.   I agree Bellatrix is whole level of crazy on her own.   I was worried that people would feel the socks were too out of character, but he needed to do something good for someone else if he would ever be able to the man for Hermione.

adoring+fan--- I am so glad you adore the story. Hopefully, you equally enjoy this chapter.

 

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